0JE  CAUF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


THOMAS 


BY 

H.  B.  CRESWELL 


NEW  YORK 

Robert  M.  McBride  Gf  Company 

1919 


Printed  in  the 
United  States  of  America 

(Second  Printing  Auywst,  1919; 


Published  August,  1918 


TO 

E.   J.   P. 
STANTON 


2126216 


CONTENTS  fc 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    MY  MOTHER  RUBS  IT  IN I 

II.    NITA  DRESSES  ME  DOWN 14 

III.  MY   ABORTIVE   ATTEMPT   ON   THE   POET 

BENSON 32 

IV.  BAT    VERNON    AND    His    "BLUE    WAG- 

TAIL"       50 

V.  TRAGIC   EXPERIENCES  AT  CAFF  PADDOX    72 

VI.    HILDON  HALL 87 

VII.    I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL 106 

VIII.     SUSAN  LETS  ME  DOWN 125 

IX.  MR.    BERT    SUTHERLAND    BOUNDS    INTO 

THE  ARENA 145 

X.  CANON  TABB  MEETS  BAT  VERNON    ..     .165 

XI.    MODESTY  REWARDED 186 

XII.    SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY 204 

XIII.  MY  ONLY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  Loss  226 

XIV.  RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME 252 

XV.    HOME  AGAIN a8i 

XVI.    NITA  ....  308 


THOMAS 

CHAPTER  I 

MY  MOTHER  RUBS  IT  IN 

IN  my  experience  the  most  difficult  question  a  man 
is  called  upon  to  decide  is  whether  he  shall,  or 
shall  not,  marry.  It  is  not  as  if  there  were  any  middle 
course:  there  is  none.  At  a  precise  moment  in  the 
marriage  service — marked  in  some  rituals  by  the  firing 
of  a  pistol — you  are  married.  Up  to  that  point  you 
may  scream  and  be  let  off.  Beyond  that  point  you 
may  scream,  but  it  is  of  no  use.  Marriage  is  a  definite 
act:  you  have  to  make  up  your  mind  one  way  or  the 
other.  It  is  very  difficult  indeed  to  come  to  this  de- 
cision, and  no  one  who  has  not  actually  lived  through 
the  experience  can  have  any  conception  of  the  strain 
and  weariness  of  it  all. 

For  instance,  you  get  up  in  the  morning  feeling 
absolutely  fit.  Your  skin  is  as  tight  as  a  drum ;  you 
see  your  dear  old,  clean,  pink  jowls  coming  to  view 
behind  the  razor,  and  you  say:  "No,  I'm  dashed  if 


2  THOMAS 

I  do."  Later  in  the  day  it  may  snow,  or  you  miss 
a  train,  and  you  begin  to  feel  sorry  you  have  decided 
not  to  do  it.  Then  perhaps  in  the  evening,  sitting 
in  front  of  the  fire  after  dinner,  you  begin  to  be 
mournful.  You  think  of  the  good  old  days  that  are 
gone,  and  then  you  decide:  "Yes,  by  jove,  I  will — 
I'll  do  it."  The  more  thoughtful  a  man  is  the  more  he 
suffers.  The  harder  I  think  about  it  the  more  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  I  ask  myself  repeatedly,  "Why 
not?"  Then  again,  on  the  other  hand,  "Why?"  And 
so  on  backwar4s  and  forwards ;  forwards  and  back. 
It  makes  me  sigh. 

My  difficulty  in  making  up  my  mind  is  increased  by 
mother,  or  I  should  rather  say  that  it  is  probably  due 
to  her  that  I  trouble  my  head  on  the  matter  at  all. 
If  one  doesn't  want  to  be  married,  well — don't  marry; 
if  one  does,  well— do  it.  That  seems  easy  enough! 
My  trouble  is,  however,  that  a  day  rarely  passes  but 
my  mother  reminds  me,  by  some  conversational  nudge, 
that  I  ought  to  be  married,  or  know  the  reason  why 
not. 

It  would  be  all  right  if  my  dear  mother  would  say 
outright,  "Get  married,  you  ass !"  or  convey  her  advice 
in  some  other  direct  way:  I  could  then  discuss  the 
matter  with  her  and  get  ballast,  no  doubt,  from  her 
mellowed  experience.  But  the  deadly  thing  about  my 
mother  is  her  insuperable  tact.  Never  to  say  a  thing ; 
always  to  imply  it,  and  never  to  mean  anything  if 
challenged,  is  her  system.  "Tact  at  all  costs"  is  her 
guiding  principle  and  my  confusion. 


MY  MOTHER  RUBS  IT  IN  3 

The  scene  at  breakfast  this  morning  was  not  in  any 
way  out  of  the  ordinary.  The  same  sort  of  thing  hap- 
pens nearly  every  day,  and  I  shall  probably  have 
another  whiff  of  Ferdinand  before  I  go  to  bed.  I 
merely  report  today's  breakfast  as  an  illustration  of 
tomorrow's  dinner  or  next  Saturday's  lunch.  These 
attacks  by  my  mother  have  gradually  become  formid- 
able. In  short  she  is  beginning  to  warm  to  her  pur- 
pose, and  I  am  finding  it  difficult  to  keep  my  end  up. 

I  have  to  explain  that  this  lady  is  not  really  my 
mother,  but  my  stepmother.  She  is,  however,  the  only 
mother  I  have  ever  known ;  and,  as  she  has  brought 
me  up  in  strict  observance  of  filial  obligations,  we 
are  mother  and  son  by  long  confirmed  habit. 

Breakfast  was  nearly  over  when  I  entered  the  room. 
Before  I  could  shut  the  door  my  mother  exclaimed 
in  a  voice  thrilling  with  exultation : 

"I've  got  news  for  you,  Thomas.    Can  you  guess?" 

"What!    You  don't  mean  Uncle  Joe ?" 

You  see  I  am  old  at  the  game.  I  have  become  as 
sensitive  as  a  cobweb,  and  can  detect  the  direction 
of  the  wind  at  once.  I  have  to  be  wary. 

"Oh,  my  dear  son!  No,  I  am  thankful  to  say. 
How  can  you !  No.  Someone's  going  to  be  married. 
Aren't  they,  Nita?  Can't  you  guess  who  it  is, 
Thomas  ?" 

Nita  is  my  half-nephew's  young  widow.  The  rela- 
tionship is  too  complicated  to  explain. 

I  kissed  my  mother  thoughtfully  and  pondered  so 
that  I  might  let  her  down  as  heavily  as  possible.  It'* 


4  THOMAS 

the  only  way.    Then  I  said  suddenly: 

"Ben." 

Ben  is  the  village  lad  of  seventeen  who  comes  on 
Fridays  to  help  mow  the  lawn. 

"Oh,  surely  you " 

"Sarah." 

Sarah  is  our  middle-aged  parlor  maid. 

"My  dear " 

"Bishop  of  London,  No;  Princerwales." 

"Oh,  you're  shouting!  How  can  you  be  so  ridicu- 
lous, Thomas!  Is  it  likely  I  should  want  you  to 

guess  if  it  was Nita  guessed  at  once,  didn't  you, 

Nita?" 

Nita  nodded  to  me  as  she  fanned  away  a  wasp, 
and  said  in  her  rapid  contralto  tones  that  always  re- 
mind me  of  someone  decanting  a  very  musical 
bottle  of  port  wine: 

"Not  going  to  tell  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  know." 

"Well  then,  it  is  your  cousin  Ferdinand." 

"What!  Poor  old  Ferdinand!  Are  they  going  to 
do  it  to  him  all  over  again?" 

"What  does  my  boy  mean?"  cried  my  mother  de- 
spairingly, trying  hard  not  to  be  dashed. 

Then  she  collected  herself  and  went  on: 

"I  have  just  heard  from  your  aunt,  Thomas,  telling 
me  of  Ferdinand's  engagement.  And  quite  time. 
Only  four  years  younger  than  you!  Naturally  your 
aunt  is  overjoyed.  Dear  Elizabeth,  how  well  I  under- 
stand her  feelings — /  can  sympathize.  Now  don't 


MY  MOTHER  RUBS  IT  IN  5 

forget  to  write  and  congratulate " 

"But  the  man's  married  already,"  I  broke  in. 

"Married  already!"  my  mother  exclaimed  aghast. 

"You're  going  off  your  head,"  Nita  put  in  cheer- 
fully. 

"But  he  was  married  two  years  ago !" 

"Ferdinand  was?" 

"Well,  someone  was." 

"Oh,  you  must  be  thinking  of  John,  of  course,"  my 
mother  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  relief. 

"Am  I?" 

"Considering  you  were  dining  with  Ferdinand  only 
a  week  or  two  ago  you  ought  to  know  whether  he  is 
married  or  not,"  said  Nita. 

"Why?     Women  are  never  allowed  in  the  Cub." 

"Of  course  I  know  that;  but  he  would  have  men- 
tioned his  wife." 

"Would  he?    Why?" 

"M — well"  My  mother  made  a  gesture  of  despair 
as  she  picked  up  the  letters  beside  her  plate  and  left 
the  room. 

"Oh,  you  can't  carry  it  off  with  me,"  Nita  ran  ore 
laughing.  "It  will  be  your  turn  soon.  Poor  old  T. ! 
No  more  developing  photographs  in  the  bath  for  him 
then ;  no  more  cigarette  ends  thrown  into  the  fender ; 
no  more  coming  down  to  breakfast  in  slippers  at 
ten  on  Sunday  morning;  no  more  smoking  in  bed 
and  burning  holes  in  the  blankets ;  no  more  prac- 
tising golf  shots  against  the  dining-room  curtains 
and  breaking  the  windows,  poor  boy!" 


6  THOMAS 

"You  aon't  know  anything  about  it,"  I  said. 
""You're  completely  wrong.  She's  going  to  be  a  dear 
old  thing;  fat,  I  tell  you,  with  dimples,  and  a  bunch 
of  keys  in  a  basket.  She  won't  mind  picking  up 
matches  and  cigarette-ends — she  will  like  doing  things 
for  me. 

Nita  laughed  her  characteristic  peal  of  gurgles. 
It's  pleasant  to  hear  her. 

"You  may  joke,"  said  she ;  "but  you've  got  a  sharp 
lesson  to  learn,  I  can  tell  you."  She  laughed  again 
and  brought  up  with  a  final,  "Oh  dear!" 

"Oh  dear  what?"  I  commented.  "You  know  the 
country;  then  why  not  give  me  a  lead?  That  would 
be  the  really  handsome  thing  to  do.  There  are  any 
number  of  men  who  would  snap  you  up  if  you  gave 
them  a  chance  of  a  snap.  You  shouldn't  be  so  un- 
Icind,  Nita.  You're  a  cruel  woman.  You  should  take 
your  pick  and  be  thankful.  There's  poor  Williams, 
for  instance :  what's  wrong  with  Williams  ?  And  poor 
''Poodle,'  he's  all  right;  and  then  there's  that  poor 
blighter  who  holds  the  plate  in  church;  and  poor  old 
Thing-um-bob,  and  poor " 

I  broke  off  because  Nita  tried  to  bonnet  me  with  the 
tea-cosy. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  I  always  carry  things 
off  as  gaily  as  I  did  this  morning.  Nita  is  a  great 
ally.  She  is  always  ready  to  take  part  in  any  non- 
sense; doesn't  mind  being  chaffed;  believes  more  or 
less  everything  I  tell  her;  and  can  be  drawn  out  with 
absolute  certainty,  always,  just  as  easily  as  one  can 


MY  MOTHER  RUBS  IT  IN  7 

draw  a  kitten  from  under  a  chair  with  the  corner  of 
one's  handkerchief.  She  is,  besides,  the  best-natured 
woman  I  ever  came  across.  When  she  is  not  with 
us,  my  everlasting  fencing  with  my  mother  on  the 
matrimonial  question  has  to  be  more  adroit,  and  is 
wearing  to  a  degree,  so  that  I  sometimes  feel  I  shall 
break  down  and  fling  myself  away  on  someone. 

It  is  several  weeks  now  since  my  stepmother  made 
use  of  an  expression  which  filled  me  with  a  sort  of 
panic  at  the  time  and  the  consciousness  of  which  still 
hangs  about  me  as  if  I  had  just  had  my  hair  cut. 

I  admit  I  was  in  the  wrong.  I  had  thrown  a  sofa 
cushion  at  Nita  and,  without  knowing  it,  must  have 
knocked  one  of  her  gilded  hairpins  into  the  new 
piano.  This  would  not  have  mattered  but  that  it  got 
astride  E-flat,  and  made  the  note  sound  like  a  Jew's 
harp,  so  that  my  mother  was  thrown  into  consterna- 
tion when,  in  a  sentimental  mood,  she  visited  the  piano 
after  dinner.  It  was  an  expert  called  down  from 
London  who  found  the  hairpin,  and  it  was  I  who  had 
to  explain  the  circumstances. 

"Ah  well,  of  course — some  day.  All  men  are  the 

same Till  they  settle  down,"  my  mother  said 

finally. 

"Settle  down."  I  don't  like  itl  There  is  some- 
thing sinister  about  it!  I  pretend  I  don't  understand 
it,  but  I  do.  It  means  that  as  a  matter  of  course  I 
must  be  married  some  day.  But  why  "settled  down 1" 
If  I  were  married  I  should  want  to  throw  cushions 
at  Nita  just  the  same.  At  least,  I  hope  so.  If  I 


S  THOMAS 

did  not  want  to,  it  would  be  because  I  felt  dreary. 
I  don't  want  to  be  dreary.  I  want  always  to  be  gay 
and  happy.  Those  references  to  being  "settled  down" 
<;atch  me  like  the  east  wind. 

I  had  a  touch  of  it  only  a  few  days  after  this  jolt 
my  mother  gave  me.  I  happened  to  get  into  the  same 
carriage  with  Goben  on  my  way  up  to  town.  He 
may  be  a  few  years  older  than  I  am ;  nine-and-twenty 
perhaps — certainly  not  more.  I  had  heard  he  was 
•going  to  be  married,  so  I  congratulated  him. 

"Thanks,"  said  Goben  with  easy  complacency  as  he 
turned  his  paper;  "yes  I've  decided  to  settle  down." 

Now  I  appeal  to  the  universe  to  tell  me  in  what 
possible  way  Goben  could  "settle  down"?  In  what 
-way,  I  ask,  could  the  droning  key  to  which  his  life 
is  tuned  be  made  more  spiritless  and  monotonous? 

Here  are  the  facts.  Goben  holds  a  good  billet  in 
a  service  which  looks  after  him  with  the  solicitude  of 
a  doting  aunt.  All  his  needs  are  provided  for.  They 
•even  give  him  a  penknife.  They  cook  for  him  in  the 
basement  so  that  he  may  have  a  chop  served  all  hissing 
to  his  blotting-pad  at  one  o'clock  and  go  out  to  see 
the  papers  at  his  Club  afterwards.  He  has  a  fourth 
share  in  a  bottle  that  looks  like  furniture  polish,  but 
which  is  actually  Worcester  Sauce.  The  service  pro- 
tects him  against  most  of  the  misfortunes  and  anxi- 
eties that  can  beset  a  man  in  this  life ;  the  success  of 
"his  career  is  guaranteed  by  printed  and  bound  tables 
•of  yearly  increment;  and  he  can  calculate  exactly 
when  the  men  above  him  will  retire  and  he  will  be- 


MY  MOTHER  RUBS  IT  IN  9 

come  successively  possessed  of  their  rooms,  salaries, 
ink-pots,  and  copper-scuttles  with  bits  of  brown 
paper  covering  holes  in  the  bottoms.  If  he  has  a  cold 
he  wires  to  the  Hon.  Rupert  Heronshaw,  his  chief,  to 
tell  him  about  it,  and  afterwards  fills  in  a  form,  and 
a  report  is  written  on  it  and  Goben's  cold  is  filed  away 
among  the  National  Records.  He  can  have  forty 
colds  a  year  if  he  must;  due  importance  will  be  given 
to  each  of  them,  and  no  one  will  grow  weary  of  them ; 
and  if  the  recorder  of  colds  breaks  down,  a  cuccessor 
will  automatically  appoint  himself  at  a  salary  of 

i. rising  by  yearly  increments  of  i to  i. . 

Goben  therefore,  so  far  as  his  career  is  concerned, 
is  already  "settled."  It  would  take  a  question  asked 
in  the  House  of  Commons  to  shift  him. 

For  the  rest,  Goben's  life  is  entirely  given  up  to 
the  pursuit  of  beetles.  When  "Mr.  Goben  has  not 
come  back  from  lunch  yet,"  he  may  often  be  seen 
in  one  of  the  parks  making  dirt  pies.  This  means  that 
Goben,  having  collected  nearly  all  known  visible 
beetles,  is  engaged  in  harvesting  those  which  cannot 
be  seen  with  the  naked  eye.  Directly  he  gets  home 
Goben  sifts  out  the  dirt  under  a  magnifying  glass  until 
a  moving  particle  is  detected.  The  particle  is  put  into 
the  killing-bottle  and  examined  under  a  microscope. 
If  no  true  beetle  it  is  cast  aside  with  a  grunt;  a  life 
has  been  sacrificed  in  vain.  If  a  right  one,  it  is 
combed  with  camels'-hair  brushes,  laid  out  on  a  scrap 
of  mounting  card,  and  identified  in  a  heavy  volume 
which  gives  the  number  of  joints  in  the  antennae  of 


10  THOMAS 

each  known  beetle.  When  this  has  been  done  noth- 
ing remains  but  for  Goben  to  refer  to  the  list  of  his 
own  collection  and  find  that  he  already  possesses  the 
specimen  in  question  and  that  another  life  has  been 
sacrificed  to  no  purpose.  In  fact  Goben's  pursuit  may 
be  fairly  described  as  "eternal."  Long  before  his 
last  specimens  are  enshrined  in  his  boxes,  the  earlier 
ones  will  have  been  devoured  by  lice. 

Goben  is  a  remote,  unsmiling  creature,  and  his  dull 
pedantry  specially  struck  me  on  the  day  he  showed 
me  his  collection  and  I  missed  the  only  beetle  I  am 
familiar  with.  I  hope  I  know  a  blackbeetle  when  I 
see  one.  They  were  the  fashion  when  I  was  a  child, 
and  cook  told  me  they  were  "lucky,"  and  that  no 
house  where  there  were  plenty  of  blackbeetles  ever 
took  fire.  She  said  they  dearly  loved  a  bit  of  music. 
"Go  to  bed  Tom.  Go  to  bed  Tom.  Go  to  bed  Tom. 
Go  to  bed  Tom,"  ad  lib,  was  the  song  they  appeared 
to  like  best.  Goben,  however,  solemnly  told  me  that 
blackbeetles  are  not  beetles  at  all ;  as  if  what  was 
good  enough  for  me,  and  everybody  else  for  that 
matter,  was  not  good  enough  for  him! 

It  was  these  facts  that  held  me  dumb  when  Goben 
told  me  he  was  going  to  get  married  in  order  to 
settle  down.  The  only  way  I  can  fill  in  the  idea  of 
his  settling  down  when  he  gets  married  is  by  supposing 
that  Mrs.  Goben  will  collect  beetles  too.  In  that  way, 
certainly,  he  might  feel  more  solid  and  immovable. 
He  would  know,  for  instance,  that  if  he  were  to  fall  ill, 
beetles  would  not  be  allowed  to  suffer.  Nevertheless, 


MY  MOTHER  RUBS  IT  IN  11 

knowing  Goben  as  I  do,  it  seems  to  me  that  his  expec- 
tations of  a  bland  married  life,  even  under  these  con- 
ditions, is  doomed  to  disappointment.  I  picture  the 
thoughtful  spectacled  face  of  Mrs.  Goben  as  I  imagine 
her  entering  the  breakfast-room  where  Goben,  glued 
to  his  microscope,  has  seized  the  opportunity  of  a 
spare  moment  to  refresh  himself  with  a  first  morning 
beetle. 

"You  remember,  Winifred,  what  I  told  you  about 
the  Daliocathythius  Ponthadichitos  when  I  woke  you 
up  last  night." 

"Certainly." 

"Well,  I've  had  another  look  this  morning,  and  in 
the  better  light  I  find  she  is  only  a  Pahchardonto 
Bensoniensis." 

"Oh  dear!    Are  you  sure?" 

"Quite.  And  she  has  lost  two  feathers  out  of  her 
tail." 

"How  very  annoying!  That  misled  you,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"Exactly.  It's  the  work  of  those  blackguard  red 
ants  again,  I'll  be  bound." 

"Are  you  sure  he  is  not  a " 

"She." 

"But " 

" — Sure  she  is  not  a  hybrid?" 

"Quite.  Pelirson  clearly  states  that  mules  are 
unknown  among  the  Palichardonti." 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  you  are  wrong,  that  is  all  I  can 
say." 


12  THOMAS 

"Thank  you.  Have  you  examined  his  thorax,  may 
I  ask?" 

"Her  thorax — I  keep  on  telling  you  it's  a  doe.  No, 
not  yet,  I  must  turn  her  over.  Give  me  some  hot 
water." 

"Oh,  come  to  breakfast,  the  coffee's  made." 

"Some  hot  water,  please.  I'll  take  my  breakfast 
at  this  table.." 

"No,  you  certainly  will  not.  We  lost  a  Wando- 
potindoctoros  two  years  ago  by  your  eating  it  with 
your  bread  and  butter,  and  the  last  time  you  had 
breakfast  with  the  microscope  you  left  jam  on  the 
object-glass.  Please  remember  that  I  have  to  work 
after  you.  I  nearly  went  crazy." 

And  so  on. 

These  are  the  scenes  which  arise  in  my  mind  when 
I  speculate  on  the  married  life  of  Goben.  They  do 
not  bring  me  any  nearer  to  an  understanding  of  what 
Goben  has  in  his  head  when  he  talks  of  "settling 
down,"  but  they  confirm  my  intention  on  no  account 
to  do  so  myself.  Always  to  avoid  settling  down  is  at 
this  moment  my  determination.  Of  course  it  is  the 
right  thing  to  be  polite  to  ladies,  I  know  that;  but 
such  politeness  need  not  be  carried  so  far  as  a  pro- 
posal of  marriage.  That  is  absurd.  I  define  marriage 
as  "politeness  carried  to  the  point  of  idiocy."  That's 
how  I  define  marriage.  Besides,  it  does  not  seem 
very  polite  to  tell  a  girl  that  you  have  decided  to 
settle  down  and  would  she  like  to  do  it  to  you — i.e. 
settle  you  down.  One  would  have  to  put  it  the  other 


MY  MOTHER  RUBS  IT  IN  13 

way  and  offer  to  do  it  to  her.  Even  that  would  appear 
rude  unless  managed  gracefully. 

I  had  intended  to  end  the  chapter  there,  but  since 
then  my  mother  has  given  me  another  nudge  about 
Ferdinand.  I  expected  as  much. 

I  was  in  the  drawing-room  looking  for  a  volume 
in  the  bookcase  near  the  door,  when  she  came 
in  through  the  French  windows  from  the  gar- 
den. In  spite  of  my  attention  being  held  by  my 
search,  I  noticed  that  she  seemed  to  hesitate,  and 
moved  aimlessly  about  the  room  rubbing  her 
hands  together.  Then  she  opened  the  door,  and 
I  thought  she  had  gone  out.  The  next  moment, 
however,  she  spoke  close  to  me. 

"Always  remember  that  it  will  be  the  happiest 
moment  of  my  life  when  I  see  my  Son  safely  married." 

"Why?  What  have  I  done  now?"  I  asked  as  I 
turned. 

But  my  mother  had  already  left  the  room. 

I  have  never  known  my  mother  to  give  tongue  on 
this  subject  so  clearly.  For  her  it  was  almost  as  if 
she  had  bitten  me.  Her  tones  were  solemn,  in  fact 
tragical.  They  struck  a  chill  through  me.  I  joined 
Nita  in  the  garden,  and  we  amused  ourselves  by  teas- 
ing the  swan  with  a  crust  tied  to  a  bit  of  string ;  but  I 
teased  him  with  a  heavy  heart 


CHAPTER  II 

NITA  DRESSES   ME  DOWN 

THE  gloomy  thoughts  which  filled  the  last  chapter 
gave  me  no  chance  to  explain  that  the  work 
I  am  engaged  upon  is  no  less  than  an  account  of 
my  holiday.  I  am  snaching  a  holiday.  I  say  "snatch- 
ing" because  I  am  entitled,  officially,  to  "twenty-eight 
days,"  but  by  careful  interpretation  of  the  rules  I 
find  I  can  stretch  them  to  more  than  six  weeks.  This 
is  my  first  summer  leave,  and  I  don't  know  whether 
anyone  expects  me  to  be  away  so  long.  They  will 
know  when  I  don't  come  back.  It  will  dawn  on  them 
slowly  for  a  fortnight,  so  that  they  will  get  used  to 
the  idea  by  degrees.  What  I  did  was  to  apply  for 
"my  month's  leave."  This  was  granted,  and  I  was 
left  to  decide  whether  I  had  meant  a  lunar  month 
of  twenty-eight,  or  a  calendar  month  of  thirty-one, 
days.  I  have  decided  that  I  meant  a  calendar  month 
of  thirty-one  days.  Then,  I  am  not  including  Sundays 
and  the  Bank  Holiday  as  part  of  my  leave  as  I  never 
work  on  those  days.  For  the  same  reason  I  am  only 
counting  Saturdays  as  half  days.  The  result  is  that 

14 


NITA  DRESSES  ME  DOWN  15 

I  have  seven  days  to  add  to  the  thirty-one,  and  this 
throws  another  week-end  into  the  boiling  and  entitles 
me  to  add  another  day  and  a  half.  Then,  again,  I 
applied  for  my  leave  to  date  from  a  Tuesday,  and 
asked  my  chief  to  let  me  take  the  Monday  "because 
I  was  going  away  for  the  week-end  and  did  not  want 
to  come  back  to  Town  for  the  one  day  unless  it  was 
absolutely  necessary."  It  was  not  absolutely  neces- 
sary, and  this  concession  gave  me  five  extra  days,  for 
it  made  my  holiday  begin  on  Saturday,  so  that  I 
could  add  a  day  and  a  half  to  the  other  end  of  my 
leave,  which  roped  in  still  another  week-end  and  gave 
me  another  extra  day  and  a  half.  Forty-four  days! 
Not  a  holiday  to  be  sniffed  at,  I  think,  and  all  brought 
about  by  a  logical  application  of  the  official  rules. 

My  tour  is  to  be  a  great  success.  I  have  promised 
myself  that. 

My  leading  idea  is  to  look  up  my  friends.  It  is 
extraordinary  what  a  number  of  friends  one  finds 
one  has  when  one  sits  down  to  make  a  list,  although 
it  takes  a  long  time  to  think  of  them  all ;  especially 
old  friends.  It  was  two  hours  before  I  thought  of 
Miss  Vetch,  for  instance.  I  remembered  the  Duke 
of  Sarum  first:  I  am  always  reminded  of  him  when 
the  weather  changes.  It  will  be  understood  that  I 
have  many  more  friends  than  those  in  the  schedule 
below,  but,  as  they  do  not  promise  to  satisfy  the 
demands  which  I  shall  make  on  them,  their  names 
do  not  appear.  I  would  not  wish  to  stay  in  every 
house  I  know.  There  are  some  houses,  too,  where  I 


16  THOMAS 

might  consent  to  pay  a  visit,  but  where  I  would  not 
care  to  present  myself  suddenly  with  a  wide-smiling 
expectation  of  being  asked  to  stop.  As  it  is,  there 
are  names  on  my  list  which  I  am  uncertain  about.  I 
feel  I  may  funk  them  at  the  pinch  and  they  are 
accordingly  marked  as  Doubtful  Starters.  It  is  un- 
pleasant to  walk  beamingly  into  a  house  with  the 
intention  of  being  invited  to  stop,  and  then  have  to 
realize  that  the  company  has  dispersed  to  dress  for 
dinner  and  that  you  have  got  to  leave.  However,  the 
worst  goer  on  the  card  is  a  dead  cert,  for  lunch:  I 
will  say  that  for  my  little  crowd.  I  have  added  ex- 
planatory notes,  because  without  these  my  list  looks 
dreary. 

Quinn's  Final  Selections 

*The  Duke  of  Sarum.     (He  peppered  me  once.) 
Lady   Jane   Waterbury    (a    sort    of    cousin)    and 

Singe  Ditto  (the  Yank). 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wallace.     (Also  Sam  and  Miss — 

"The  Wallaces.") 
Mrs.  Connagh  (and  Dogs). 
The   Misses   Nox.     (i.e.   the    Miss   Noxes.     Old 

friends.) 

Lady  Wilson.     (Aunt  Elizabeth.) 
Mrs.  Graham  (and  Daughters). 
The  Viscount  Heckfield.     (A     family  possession. 

He  and  my  father  saved  each  other's  lives.) 
*Admiral  Sir  Anthony  Ridd,  K.C.M.G.,  R.N. 
Mrs.  Baker  Trondell.     ("Paul  Davenport,"  author 


NITA  DRESSES  ME  DOWN  17 

of  Mable  MacMurtrie,  etc.) 

Richard  Piper,  Esq.,  K.C.     (Cousin  Dick.) 

Richard  Everard  Benson,  Esq.,  J.P.  ("The  Benson," 

i.e.  residuum  of  The  Bensons,"  family  friends.) 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walter  Pettigen.  (Cousin  Walter.) 
Walter  Fenton,  Esq.  (If  he  rents  the  Wye  fishing 

this  year.) 

Ambrose  Vernon,  Esq.     ("Bat"  Vernon.) 
Admiral  and  Mrs.  Druce.     ("The  Dear  Druces.") 
*Miss  Vetch. 

Caution  is  necessary  in  accepting  invitations  to  stay 
with  friends.  They  suppose  you  will  want  to  be 
entertained,  and  they  do  not  ask  you  unless  they 
have  made  preparations.  This  means  that  you  have 
got  to  pretend  you  are  being  entertained  whether  you 
are  or  not.  There  is  no  hope  for  the  morrow.  You 
must  stick  it  out  to  the  very  dregs.  The  only  thing 
to  do  is  to  hide,  and  just  roll  up  for  meals. 

With  my  faithful  little  car  "Silent  Susan,"  how- 
ever, I  can  face  these  difficulties  with  a  careless  heart. 
I  shall  be  like  a  bluebottle  fly  buzzing  capriciously 
from  one  delectable  spot  to  another.  Distance  will  be 
no  object,  for  a  journey  in  Susan  is  a  sheer  delight, 
and  motor  travel  is  to  afford  the  chief  part  of  the 
pleasure  I  have  promised  myself.  With  Susan  I  can 
present  myself  suddenly  to  my  friend  like  a  dog  rush- 
ing up  for  recognition.  If  he  likes  the  way  I  do  my 
hair;  the  pattern  of  my  tweeds;  the  hearty  freedom 

•Doubtful  Starter» 


18  THOMAS 

from  reserve  with  which  I  plunge  upon  his  luncheon- 
table  after  spoiling  a  towel  in  the  lavatory  (to  keep 
Susan  running  is  a  job  for  a  sweep) — if,  in  short,  he 
does  not  want  me  to  go,  he  will  be  at  liberty  to  ask 
me  to  stay.  If  on  my  part,  after  sampling  his  table 
and  his  company,  and  testing  how  far  time  has 
affected  the  old  reciprocity  of  ideas  between  us,  I  de- 
cide that  I  should  like  to  stay,  I  can  accept :  but  if,  on 
the  other  hand,  I  don't  like  the  cooking ;  or  the  middle- 
aged  lady  in  the  cap  and  spectacles;  or  the  smell  of 
mackintoshes  pervading  the  outer  hall ;  or  the  hushed 
repressed  atmosphere  of  the  house  as  though  there 
were  an  invalid  upstairs,  I  can  decline. 

You  see,  this  is  to  be  my  holiday.  I  have  not  been 
scheming  and  planning  to  provide  amusement  for  my 
friends.  I  am,  however,  going  to  give  every  host  a 
good  chance.  Directly  he  claps  eyes  on  Susan  he  will 
know  what  he  has  bitten  off.  My  luggage  will  be 
abundant  beyond  the  nightmares  of  a  railway  porter. 
It  will  comprise  nearly  every  article  of  wearing 
apparel  I  possess,  including  my  fancy  costume  of 
Sinbad  the  Sailor.  The  object  of  this  is  to  give 
me  confidence  at  whatever  house  I  may  approach,  for 
I  shall  know  that  wherever  I  go  my  wardrobe  will 
be  equal  to  any  emergency.  I  shall  also  be  independent 
of  the  laundress.  It  will  help  to  keep  Susan  well 
down  on  the  road,  too,  and  prevent  her  from  hopping 
and  slithering  about  as  she  is  apt  to  do  when  traveling 
light  at  high  speeds.  Six  weeks'  supply  of  four  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  shirts  will,  alone,  make  a  hefty  lift ; 


NITA  DRESSES  ME  DOWN  19 

my  total  luggage  will  no  doubt  run  to  several  hun- 
dred-weight; and  Susan  will  be  proportionately  grate- 
ful. 

What  I  specially  referred  to  when  I  said  that  my 
host  will  know  what  he  has  bitten  off  directly  he  sets 
eyes  on  Susan  was,  however,  my  toys.  I  am  going 
to  take  all  my  toys  with  me  and  stow  them  so  that  they 
will  bulge,  and  entrance  the  beholder.  When  my 
host  sees  my  cricket  bats,  tennis  racquets,  golf  clubs, 
banjo,  fishing  rods,  guns,  billiard  cue  and  croquet 
mallet,  he  will  know  where  he  stands.  If  he  cannot 
offer  me  cricket,  lawn  tennis,  golf,  croquet,  shooting, 
fishing  and  billiards,  or  some  of  them,  he  will  have 
to  make  an  awkward  apology.  In  these  circum- 
stances I  can  promise  myself  a  varied  holiday.  Under 
the  auspices  of  Susan  I  can  be  my  own  bonny  self ;  I 
need  not  try  to  please  anyone,  or  pretend  to  be  amused 
when  I  am  bored.  That  suits  me.  I  pretend  to  noth- 
ing. I  have  no  political  convictions,  I  have  no  phi- 
losophical ideals ;  I  am  not  anti-anything  nor  pro- 
anything  else.  I  am  merely  Quinn;  simply  that  and 
nothing  more.  When  people  ask  me,  religiously  or 
politically,  "What  are  you?"  I  always  reply:  "Noth- 
ing. I'm  just  plain  Quinn."  So  let  them  leave  me 
or  take  me  just  as  I  am  with  my  luggage  and  my 
toys — take  me  or  leave  me,  I  shall  not  care.  If  they 
don't  take  me  I  will  go  somewhere  else.  One  turn  of 
the  handle  (or  mort)  ;  one  rasp  of  the  hooter;  one 
terrific  explosion  through  the  exhaust — of  which 
Susan  alone  among  motor-cars  knows  the  unfathom- 


20  THOMAS 

able  secret — and  I  shall  shake  the  dust  of  the  front 
drive  from  off  my  wheels,  and  in  forty  seconds  noth- 
ing will  be  left  of  me  but  the  reverberating  echoes 
from  the  distant  hills,  and  a  dense  trailing  cloud  of 
suffocating  blue  smoke,  which,  under  favorable  atmos- 
pheric conditions,  will  hang  about  the  shrubberies  for 
an  hour. 

Just  as  I  wrote  these  last  words,  somebody  quietly 
tried  the  handle  of  the  door,  which  I  had  locked. 
As  I  got  no  reply  to  my  inquiry,  I  went  and  opened 
it.  No  one  was  there,  but  on  the  floor  I  found  a  small 
parcel  tied  in  brown  paper.  It  was  not  addressed  to 
me,  but  the  following  words  were  written  upon  the 
wrapper  in  my  mother's  handwriting: 

"I  feel  sure  my  son  will  like  to  read  this,  in  spare 
moments,  on  his  tour."  , 

I  cut  the  string  with  a  sinking  of  heart  which  was 
only  too  well  justified.  It  was  a  book  about  it.  My 
mother  had  planted  it  and  fled. 

"MARRIAGE 

An  examination  into  the  fundamental 
principles  underlying  the  reciprocity, 
spiritual  as  well  as  temporal,  which 
essentially  constitutes  the  prescience  of 

the  Dual  State 

by 

Montague  James  Erasmus  Tabb,  M.A.   (Oxon) 
Canon  of  Tanbury,  late  Rector  of  Pridd, 


NITA  DRESSES  ME  DOWN  21 

and  formerly  curate  in  charge  of  Pinbottle 
Lane  Chapel  of  Ease,  Whitton;  Hon. 
Chaplain  to  St.  Waldorf's  College  for  Wo- 
men ;  Author  of  "Conscience  Awakened," 
Breakfast  Table  Homilies,"  etc.,  and  Joint 
Editor  of  Tidd's  Biblical  Almanac 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

The  Right  Reverend   (Ha!)    Frederick 

Barton    Blims,   D.D.,    Lord    Bishop    of 

Tanbury." 

I  must  read  this.  This  will  nourish  me.  Nutri- 
ment on  the  marriage  question  is  perhaps  exactly 
what  I  want. 

INTRODUCTION 
By  (Bishop  as  before) 

"This  book,  which  has  been  written  by  a  Canon 
of  mine " 

X)n  second  thoughts  I  will  read  what  his  Canon 
has  got  to  say  first. 

Chapter  I 

"Scarcely  three  thousand  years  have  come 
and  gone,  if  we  may  venture  to  trust,  and  I 
think  we  may,  the  observation  of  those  learned 
men,  the  sages  of  our  modern  years,  whose 
beards  have  verily  gone  gray  in  their  deep  pon- 
derings  and  meditations  over  the  Cufic  inscrip- 


22  THOMAS 

tions  bitten  into  the  adamantine  living  granite 
of  Asia  Minor — scarcely  three  thousand  years 
have  come  and  gone,  sweeping  before  them " 

Can't  read  it.  I  am  out  of  breath  already.  I'll  skip 
a  page. 

"...  those  strenuous  pleadings,  those 
rhapsodies  of  petitioning,  those  clamorous 
yearnings,  those " 

Wow — Wow — Wow — Wow.  Tabb  is  an  ass.  I'll 
take  a  sample  from  Chapter  VII. 

"...  and  so  we  see  that  sorrow,  that  bitter 
herb  which,  growing  among  the  weeds  of  hu- 
man folly,  cures  where  it  pains;  sorrow  which 
guides  us  in  the  path  of  self-immolation,  this 
sorrow  is  at  once  the  impulse  of  the  marriage 
bower,  and  the  rock  to  which  they  twain  must 
cling  to  lift  them  above  the  strife,  and  the  tur- 
moil, and  the  vanity,  and " 

The  joint  editor  of  Tidds'  Biblical  Almanac  is 
a  howling  prig.  I  cannot  read  his  book.  There  is 
something  wrong  with  the  man.  I  have  glanced 
through  his  pages,  and  the  conclusion  I  come  to  is 
that  Tabb  is  mentally  crippled.  According  to  Tabb  a 
pretty  girl  is  too  indelicate  a  thing  to  be  mentioned. 
Tabb  seems  to  consider  that  no  one  can  be  ideally 
wedded  unless  he  is  miserable,  and  afflicted  with  bad 


NITA  DRESSES   ME  DOWN  23 

health  or  depressed  by  some  like  misfortune.     His 
book  affects  me  like  the  mewing  of  a  cat. 

Later  in  the  day  I  had  a  quite  astonishing  talk 
with  Nita.  She  is  really  *  most  extraordinary  wo- 
man. I  found  her  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  in 
her  garden  hat  fiddling  about  with  some  of  that  lace 
embroidery  she  is  so  clever  at.  I  mentioned  that  my 
mother  had  dumped  the  book. 

"Yes ;  she  told  me  of  it,"  said  Nita,  busy  with  her 
needle. 

"Why  did  she  do  it?" 

"Thought  you  wanted  stiffening  up,  old  man,  per- 
haps," Nita  laughed. 

"It's  the  most  awful  blather  I  ever  read." 

"Oh  well,  it's  quite  short." 

"Short !  You  talk  as  if  it  were  a  punishment.  Have 
you  read  it?" 

"Of  course  not.    I  don't  read  such  books." 

"I  don't  either." 

"Well ;  time  enough.  There  is  no  chance  of  your 
being  married  for  many  a  long  day." 

"You  mean  I  don't  intend  to  be." 

Nita  laughed.     "You  do  amuse  me  so,"  she  said. 

"Well,  what  do  you  mean?"  I  asked. 

"I  mean  that  no  really  nice  girl  would  look  at  you." 
Nita  glanced  up.  She  seemed  almost  serious. 

"Why?    What's  wrong?" 

"Oh,  there's  plenty  wrong,"  said  Nita,  laughing 
again.  "You  are  a  great  deal  too  pleased  with  your- 
self for  one  thing." 


24  THOMAS 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  I  said. 

"You  mock  at  everything.  You  have  no  respect, 
no  reverence.  Women  like  self-depreciation  and  mod- 
esty in  a  man." 

"I  believe  you're  trying  to  pull  my  leg.  Who  said 
I  was  immodest?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean  well  enough.  You  are 
arrogant;  you  are  impatient  of  other  people's 
opinions " 

"That's  not  arrogance  —  if  people  talk  rub- 
bish  " 

"Conceited  then." 

"Oh  come!  You  can't  say  I'm  conceited.  You 
never  caught  m&  riding  the  high  horse." 

"You  ridicule  other  people's  ideas." 

"Well,  it  amuses  me.    I  like  it." 

"Exactly.    You  are  selfish." 

"Nita!     Selfish!    ME!!" 

"My  dear  boy,  you  are  quite  the  most  selfish  man 
I  ever  met.  I  don't  believe  you  ever  think  of  anyone 
but  yourself  from  the  moment  you  get  up  in  the 
morning  till  you  go  to  bed." 

"But  I  think  of  others  when  I  am  in  bed — and 
dream  of  them  all  night  long." 

"You  can't  joke  it  off.  You're  very  selfish.  You 
are  even  greedy." 

"Oh  come,  Nita,  that's  beyond  a  joke." 

"Well,  but  aren't  you?  Why  did  you  snap  up  all 
the  savories  at  supper  on  Sunday  night,  for  in- 
stance ?" 


NITA  DRESSES  ME  DOWN  25 

"Good  gracious — do  you  mean — I  never  thought — 
I  mean  I  thought  you — well,  anyhow,  my  mother 
never  takes  them." 

"There  you  are,  you  see."    Nita  waved  a  hand. 

"Look  here,"  I  said,  "why  are  you  rattling  me 
like  this,  Nita?" 

"You  asked  me  to  tell  you  why  there  is  no  chance 
of  your  being  married  yet.  You  can't  change  your- 
self all  at  once.  Girls  will  not  trouble  about  a  man 
who  is  self -centered,  arrogant,  and  scornful.  They 
expect  modesty,  and  a  certain  amount  of  reserve,  and 
consideration  for  others,  and  deference  to  their 
opinions,  and  respect,  and  veneration " 

"You've  been  reading  Tabb." 

"Oh  no,  I  haven't." 

"Well,  then,  I  can  tell  you  this:  I  don't  care  a 
fig  about  girls  who  esteem  modesty,  and  humility, 
and  deference,  and  veneration,  and  benignity,  and 
self-effacement,  and  snivelling,  and  carpet-scraping. 
They  bore  me  to  death.  Not  one  of  them  knows 
how  to  dress,  or  how  to  do  her  hair  becomingly,  or 
how  to  look  pretty  and  charming.  What's  the  good 
of  a  girl  without  charm?" 

Nita  laughed  merrily.  "There  you  go !"  she  cried. 
"They  bore  you!  Thomas  is  bored!  That's  enough! 
Cast  them  aside,  sweep  them  out  of  the  way,  give 
Thomas  more  room!  It  does  not,  of  course,  matter 
whether  Thomas  bores  them." 

"He  doesn't  care  if  he  does — they  deserve  to  be 
bored.  But  I  know  you  are  chaffing.  You  cannot 


26  THOMAS 

make  out  that  I  bore  people,  Nita.    Now,  can  you?" 

"There  are  other  ways  of  boring  people  besides 
being  polite  and  decorous.  For  instance,  why  do  you 
always  insist  on  saying  what  you  want  to  say,  instead 
of  what  other  people  want  to  hear?" 

"Well,  I  can't  be  forty  different  people.  I  don't 
pretend  to  be  anything  but  just  plain  Quinn.  You 
know  that,  Nita." 

"I  know  it  well;  but  the  things  plain  Quinn  says 
are  appalling." 

"Now  what  do  you  mean  by  that?    Do  explain." 

"I  mean  that  you  are  the  rudest  man  I  ever 
met." 

"Oh,  bosh!  When  was  I  rude?  I  wish  you  would 
look  up;  I  can't  see  you  under  your  hat." 

"Well,  for  instance,  yesterday  afternoon  when 
Mrs.  Yates  was  here,  you  told  her  that  her  horse 
looked  as  if  his  dam  had  been  frightened  by  a 
hippopotamus." 

"But  that  wasn't  rude !  It  was  the  truth.  Besides, 
Mrs.  Yates  admitted  he  was  fat." 

"Not  rude !  Good  gracious !  You  never  hear  Aunt 
Emmy  say  a  thing  like  that." 

"It  was  only  a  joke." 

"I  daresay  it  amused  you;  it  was  not  yotir 
gee." 

"Well — can  you  give  me  another  instance?" 

"You  told  Mrs.  Yates  she  would  know  what  Rachel 
Graham  looked  like  if  she  imagined  Maud  and  Val- 
erie shaken  up  together  in  a  bottle." 


NITA  DRESSES  ME  DOWN  27 

"Well!  She  asked  how  Rachel  was  growing  up, 
and  I  told  her  exactly.  We  are  all  friends.  Give 
me  another  sample,  I  don't  count  that  one." 

"No,  I  won't.  You  will  repeat  them,  and  you  ought 
to  forget  them.  You  should  be  more  circumspect." 

"Well,  it's  no  good  finding  fault  with  me.  That's 
no  help.  You've  called  me  nearly  every  bad  name 
you  can  think  of.  Tell  me  your  idea  of  how  I  ought 
to  behave." 

Nita  put  down  her  work  and  got  up.  "I'll  give 
you  a  book,"  she  said,  and  she  hurried  out  of  the 
room. 

I  half  fancied  Nita  was  pulling  my  leg  all  the 
time.  We  are  perfectly  good  friends  always,  in  fact, 
we  are,  in  a  sense,  quite  pals.  She  could  not  really 
have  meant  that  she  thinks  I  am  conceited,  and  selfish, 
and  greedy,  and  generally  beastly.  I  was  not  able 
to  see  her  face  properly,  yet  she  seemed  serious.  I 
must  have  upset  her  in  some  way.  She  came  run- 
ning downstairs  a  minute  later  and  I  heard  her  jump 
the  last  steps,  so  I  knew  there  was  nothing  seriously 
amiss. 

"There !"  she  said  a  little  breathlessly. 

"Why,  when  did  you  get  hold  of  this?" 

"I  found  it." 

"Where?" 

"In  the  pocket  of  my  dress  box.  Someone's  servant 
must  have  thought  it  was  mine  and  packed  it." 

"  'Social  Deportment',"  I  read,  "  'By  a  member  of 
the  British  Aristocracy.'"  I  turned  the  leaves  of 


28  THOMAS 

the  dingy  old  book.     "  'What  to  say  to  a  lady  who 
has  dropped  her  fan.' 

"'Dear  Lady.'— He  calls  her  'Dear  Lady.'  'Dear 
Lady,  to  stoop  before  you  is  my  proudest  privilege.' 

"Now,  can  you  imagine  my  saying  a  thing  like 
that,  Nita?" 

"No  I  can't,"  said  Nita.  "That  is  why  I  say  you 
will  never  please  women.  You  are  incapable  of 
sentiment." 

"Now  it's  'Sentiment'!  Do  put  down  that  work 
and  attend.  This  is  serious,  and  I  believe  you're 
laughing." 

"I  can't  help  being  amused.  You  seem  to  think 
you  know  more  than  people  who  write  books." 

"Well,  I  confess  I  don't  understand.  Do  explain 
what  the  idea  is.  Take  the  book  and  teach  me.  I'll 
look  over  you,  and  we  will  do  it  together.  Here 
you  are — 'Talk  at  the  Dinner  Table.'  You  be  Mrs. 
F.  and  I  will  be  Mr.  D." 

Nita  began  to  read: 

"Mrs.  F.  might  say :  'Was  not  the  Royal  Academy 
Exhibition  truly  delightful?  I  think  Millais'  pictures 
are  too  utterly  sweet,  and  so  intensely  sincere.' " 

"To  which  Mr.  D.  might  reply,"  I  read:  "'I  en- 
tirely agree  with  you,  they  are  most  sincere.  Sir 
John  is  a  charming  disciple  of  the  brush,  but  to  my 
mind  Sir  Frederick  is  a  more  sensitive  and  fastidious 
votary  of  the  palette.' — Lummy!  I  can't  read  this. 
Let's  try  something  else,"  I  broke  off.  "Here  you 
are — 'Sporting  Prattle.'  You  begin  again." 


NITA  DRESSES  ME  DOWN  29 

Nita  read :  "  'I  am  so  devoted  to  dogs.  Do  you 
not  agree  with  me  that  they  are  a  fascinating 
study?'" 

"  'The  dog  is,  indeed,  a  delightful  animal,' "  I  read, 
"  'and  wonderfully  faithful ;  but  to  my  mind  the  horse 
is  to  be  preferred.' " 

"  'Quite  true ;  he  is  a  noble  beast.'  " 

"If  you  talk  like  that,  Nita,"  I  said,  "I'll  never 
speak  to  you  again." 

"You  must  follow  the  book,"  said  Nita.  "Go  on: 
'Mr.  D.  might  reply.'" 

"  'Might  reply1 — take  your  finger  away — 'reply : 
'Yes,  he  is  a  noble  beast  indeed.  I  always  call  the 
horse  the  friend  of  man.' — Why  are  you  shivering, 
are  you  cold  ?" 

"Nothing  to  matter.  That's  all  right,  but  don't  talk 
as  if  you  had  a  plum  in  your  mouth." 

"I  can't  do  it.  I  don't  want  to  live  in  such  a  world. 
Let's  try  somewhere  else.  Here  you  are:  'Airy 
Nothings  for  the  Ballroom.'  Let's  rehearse  some  airy 
nothings.  I  begin  this  time."  I  read: 

"  'I  envy  that  butterfly  perched  so  daintily  on  your 
hair  close  to  that  shell-like  ear.  What  secrets  would 
I  not  whisper  were  I  so  near.  Happy  butterfly!' 
Now  you  reply." 

'"Unlike  you,  my  butterfly  has  no  feeling,  so  ft 
does  not  appreciate  its  happiness,  which  is,  I  believe, 
characteristic  of  butterflies — you  ought  to  know  some- 
thing about  it.' " 

"Oh,  Nita,  you  minx  I" 


30  THOMAS 

"Go  on  and  finish." 

"  'You  are  kind  enough  to  anticipate  my  feelings,' " 
I  read.  "'I  have  not  found  my  wings  as  yet.  I 
am  still  in  a  chrysalis  state.' " 

"That's  better,"  Nita  told  me,  "but  you  are  too 
heavy.  You  don't  put  any  warmth  into  your  voice. 
You  should  be  more  ardent." 

"All  right.  Let  me  try  again.  I  shall  do  it  this 
time.  I'll  begin  at  the  beginning — 'I  envy  that  butter- 
fly perched  so '  " 

"Oh !  oh !  you're  tickling  my  ear." 

"That's  the  'airy'  part  of  the  'nothing.'  Don't 
laugh,  I  am  just  going  to  be  ardent — do  sit  still." 

But  Nita  would  not  sit  still,  and  went  on  laughing, 
and  finally  she  jumped  up  and  dodged  round  the 
tables  till  my  mother,  who  had  come  into  the  room, 
cried  to  her  to  "take  care  of  the  vases."  Then  she 
slipped  out  of  the  window. 

My  mother  drifted  nervously  about  the  room, 
rubbing  her  hands  together  as  she  always  does  when 
she  is  preparing  to  make  one  of  her  springs  at  me. 
Then  she  confronted  me  and  whispered : 

"Did  you  get ?"  and  stopped. 

I  nodded  my  head  at  her.  Far  away  in  the  garden 
I  could  see  Nita  swaying  about  in  a  paroxysm  of 
laughter. 

"Give  me  a  kiss,  my  son,"  said  my  mother;  and 
then  she  added,  as  I  bent  to  her,  "Such  a  devout 
man." 

Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  oh  dear!     I  can  only  console 


NITA  DRESSES   ME  DOWN  31 

myself  with  the  thought  that  Susan  is  greased  up  to 
a  point  beyond  belief  and  that  I  have  repacked  the 
gland  of  the  pump  spindle  so  that  water  cannot  drain 
from  the  radiator  into  the  crank  chamber  any  more— 
at  least  I  hope  not.  The  day  after  tomorrow  I  shall 
be  off. 


CHAPTER  III 

MY  ABORTIVE  ATTEMPT  ON  THE  POET  BENSON 

I  AM  off.  I  have  had  a  glorious  day  of  crowded 
life,  and  I  am  now  at  the  Lamb  Hotel,  Fradford. 
"Bat"  Vernon  is  in  the  bar  "keeping  out  the  damp," 
as  he  calls  it,  and  trying  to  embarrass  a  very  well- 
matured  barmaid.  I  am  sitting  in  the  parlor,  and 
as  the  result  of  an  arduous  day,  topped  off  with  an 
honest  British  feed,  my  condition  is  one  of  holy 
calm.  I  should,  by  rights,  be  at  Cradhill  Court, 
testing  the  table  and  bed-linen  of  The  Benson,  but 
there  has  been  a  hitch. 

I  must  explain  that  two  days  ago  I  had  a  letter 
from  "Bat,"  asking  me  to  join  him  for  a  week- 
end's fishing  at  Fradford.  That  suited  me,  for  my 
tour  allows  me  to  do  just  what  I  like  from  moment 
to  moment.  I  told  Bat  I  would  pick  him  up  at 
Reading,  and  that  we  would  go  on  together  by  road. 
In  order  that  there  might  be  no  chance  of  our  missing 
one  another,  I  was  careful  to  be  exact.  "If  I  am 
not  on  the  platform  when  your  train  pulls  up,"  I 
underlined,  "you  will  find  me  outside  waiting  in  the 
car." 

32 


MY  ABORTIVE  ATTEMPT  33 

As  a  result  of  the  greasing  I  had  given  her,  Susan's 
action  this  morning  was  sublime.  She  started  of? 
with  a  thick,  suety  note  which  was  a  pure  delight 
to  hear.  I  drove  her  gently  and  revelled  in  it,  and 
began  to  deprecate  the  extravagance  of  six-cylinder 
and  patent  "silent"  cars.  I  felt  Bat  would  be  im- 
pressed. He  has  an  uncomfortable  way  of  making 
light  of  Susan.  When,  however,  the  good  tough 
grease  began  to  melt  and  run,  and  the  sun  got  to 
work  on  her  body,  all  the  well-known  chirrups  came 
to  life  one  after  the  other,  and  the  old  girl  rattled 
along  in  her  usual  one-cylinder  style. 

My  road  lay  through  Rickmansworth,  Maidenhead, 
and  Henley.  I  choose  by-roads.  They  fit  the  holiday 
humor.  The  drawback  to  this  method  of  travel  is, 
however,  that  one  is  apt  to  lose  one's  way,  and  I 
made  an  ass  of  myself  this  morning  in  consequence 
—or,  rather,  an  unknown  motorist  made  an  ass  of 
himself.  No  one,  of  course,  knew  it  was  I.  The 
fact  is,  poor  little  Susan  does  not,  I  am  afraid,  accel- 
erate very  well  unless  she  is  on  a  down  grade,  so 
that  one  never  lets  her  stop,  when  once  she  is  fairly 
on  the  move,  if  it  can  possibly  be  avoided.  When 
there  is  doubt  about  the  road,  all  that  is  necessary 
is  to  slow  Susan  down  to  about  fifteen  miles  an  hour 
and  shout  the  name  of  the  place  wanted  at  a  passer- 
by with  the  voice  raised  in  a  strong  note  of  inquiry. 
If  the  passer-by  has  ordinary  intelligence  he  can 
easily  yell  an  answer  before  Susan  is  out  of  range. 
I  could  not  today,  however,  get  replies  from  anyone, 


34  THOMAS 

when  I  wanted  to  know  whether  I  was  on  the  right 
track. 

First  it  was  a  pedlar. 

"Maidstone?"  I  bellowed.  He  stared  like  a  stunned 
sheep. 

"Idiot!" 

Then  a  laborer. 

"Maidstone  ?"— "Idiot !" 

It  should  be  explained  that  "Maidstone  ?"  is  shouted 
as  Susan  approaches  the  stranger,  "Idiot!"  as  she 
recedes. 

"Maidstone?" — "Idiot!"  This  time  it  was  a  man 
pushing  a  perambulator  with  a  sack  in  it. 

Once  more :     "Maidstone  ?"— "Idiot !" 

I  began  to  get  annoyed — the  place  was  close  at 
hand,  I  knew.  A  white-haired,  keen- faced  clergy- 
man, with  leggings  and  a  stout  stick  in  his  hand,  came 
out  of  a  roadside  cottage  a  little  way  ahead.  The 
old  man  stood  right  up  into  the  hedge,  smiling,  to 
let  me  pass.  I  stopped. 

"Can  you  tell  me  whether  I  am  right  for  Maid- 
stone?" 

"I  am  a  little  deaf." 

"Maidstone." 

"No.    I  am  sorry.    I  am  sorry." 

"Not  a  soul  can  tell  me,"  I  complained.  "The  place 
cannot  be  much  more  than  ten  miles  away,  and  no 
one  in  all  this  county  knows  how  to  get  there." 

"Ten  miles!  Are  you  quite  sure  you  don't  mean 
Maidenhead?" 


MY  ABORTIVE  ATTEMPT  35 

"Of  course  I  mean  it.    Why,  what  did  I  say?" 

"You  said  Maidstone." 

It  is  extraordinary  how  dull-witted  country  folk 
are.  Not  one  of  all  those  persons  guessed  that  when 
I  said  "Maidstone"  I  meant  Maidenhead,  although 
they  were  only  a  few  miles  from  the  place. 

After  we  had  passed  Henley  we  took  a  wrong 
road,  and,  in  the  act  of  turning,  Susan  went  up  on  to 
the  path  and  stopped  an  argument  between  two  men. 
The  suspicion  flashed  upon  me  that  Susan  was  not 
behaving,  and  this  was  confirmed  when  she  bumped 
into  Reading  Station  and  knocked  a  bit  of  brick  out 
of  the  buttress  by  the  cabstand,  with  the  winding  end 
of  her  crank  shaft.  It  was  a  heavy  blow  and  I 
trembled  for  Susan,  but  she  seems  to  be  all  the 
better  for  it.  It  has  tightened  her  up  somewhere, 
apparently.  An  examination  showed  that  she  had 
slobbered  herself  with  grease  from  end  to  end,  and 
that  it  had  involved  her  brakes. 

While  I  was  still  on  my  back  putting  things  to 
rights,  a  pair  of  white  linen  spats  wandered  into  my 
restricted  field  of  view,  and  I  realized  that  Bat's  train 
had  arrived  and  that,  not  finding  me  on  the  platform, 
he  was  following  instructions  and  looking  for  me  in 
the  car. 

Bat  got  his  name  at  school,  possibly  from  the 
whimsical,  peering  expression  in  his  eyes.  He  is  a 
man  who  can  scarcely  tie  a  knot,  and  who  always  tries 
to  unscrew  a  thing  by  tightening  it  up.  This  makes 
him  worse  than  useless  when  anything  goes  wrong 


36  THOMAS 

with  Susan,  for  he  not  only  stands  aside  and  looks 
on  with  an  air  of  indulgent  amusement,  but  affects 
to  see  a  humorous  side  to  incidents  which  are  not  in 
the  least  funny.  As  usual,  he  was  exquisitely  clothed ; 
carried  a  light  overcoat  and  walking  stick  with  gold 
match-box  in  the  handle ;  and  was  attended  by  a 
porter  with  his  fishing-gear  and  a  crocodile-hide  suit- 
case with  silvered  mountings.  It  was  annoying  having 
to  wriggle  out,  hot  and  dusty,  and  greet  him  with 
hands  and  arms  smeared  with  black  grease,  and  a 
tickle  on  my  nose. 

"Oh!"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  enlightenment  as  I 
rose  into  view  on  the  opposite  side  of  Susan  and 
desperately  rubbed  my  nose  on  the  spare  tire. 

" — Oh !  I  see ;  under,  not  in,  the  car." 

He  stored  his  things  away,  and  then,  as  I  lay  down 
in  the  road  again,  said  he  thought  he  would  "just  go 
and  keep  out  the  damp  a  bit." 

"But,"  he  continued,  "I  want  you  to  understand 
how  it  was  I  kept  you  waiting.  In  your  letter  you 
distinctly  said  you  would  be  in  the  car.  You  never 
told  me  I  was  to  look  under  the  car.  So  that's  how 
it  was.  I  only  just  want  to  be  sure  you  understand 
about  it."  Then  he  moved  off  towards  the  refresh- 
ment-room. 

When  at  length  we  started  I  noticed  a  dull  re- 
luctance in  Susan's  progress  down  the  slope  to  the 
Caversham  road,  and  I  was  soon  made  aware  of  a 
deadly  struggle  that  was  going  on  between  Susan 
and  her  brakes.  Bat  complained  that  Susan  was 


MY  ABORTIVE  ATTEMPT  37 

being  too  cautious.  The  position  was  critical.  The 
question  was  would  the  one  cylinder  be  able  to  over- 
come the  brakes,  or  would  the  brakes  prove  too  much 
for  the  cylinder?  No  one  could  possibly  say.  Susan 
had  got  to  fight  it  out  and  decide  for  herself.  In 
spite  of  Bat's  protest  that  we  had  only  just  started 
and  that  it  was  too  soon  to  go  back,  I  turned  Susan 
round,  after  she  had  staggered  up  the  slope  of  Cav- 
ersham  Bridge  on  the  second  gear,  and  decided  to 
travel  by  the  more  level  road  through  Pangbourne. 
Gradually,  to  my  joy,  the  cylinder  began  to  get  the 
advantage  of  the  brakes.  The  road-grit,  working  up 
with  the  grease,  made  a  first-rate  grinding  mixture 
which  ground  down  the  bands  and  brake-drums  at 
every  turn.  Then  as  the  metal  got  hot  the  grease 
ran  freely  and  released  the  bands  which  had  a  ten- 
dency to  bind,  and  at  last  little  Susan,  with  her  back 
hubs  all  a- fry  and  her  radiator  boiling  with  the  stern- 
ness of  the  struggle,  began  to  forge  ahead  into  a 
gentle  trot.  It  was  all  most  praiseworthy.  Another 
car  might  have  kept  up  tinkering  by  the  roadside  for 
hours.  Not  so  Susan.  The  white  plume  spouting 
from  the  radiator  looked  quite  impressive.  "Steam 
was  up  at  last,"  as  Bat  said.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  smoke  too,  but,  as  I  explained  to  Bat,  it  was  only 
the  oil  frying  on  the  brakes.  There  was  no  chance 
of  the  fishing-rods  catching  fire,  althought  they  were 
"only  wood,"  as  he  put  it. 

"Talking  of  frying,"  he  said,  "reminds  me.    Have 
you  ordered  dinner?" 


38  THOMAS 

I  told  him  my  plans.  The  Benson  lived  only  three 
miles  above  Fradford,  where  he  had  a  choice  bit  of 
water  that  was  rarely  fished.  The  hotel  water  at 
Fradford  was,  however,  getting  very  tired  indeed. 
Nearly  everything  that  could  be  caught  had  been  taken 
out  of  it,  and  most  of  the  good  fish  remaining  were 
known  by  name.  Sammy  was  a  trout  to  be  always 
remembered  when  once  seen,  and  Fred  was  known 
by  reputation  far  and  wide.  He  still  wore  a  rusty 
hook  in  the  side  of  his  head  that  he  got  two  seasons 
ago.  The  most  famous  of  all  was,  however,  Edward. 
Scores  of  anglers  had  been  trying  to  catch  Edward 
for  years.  The  "Eddy  Sweep"  had  become  historic 
in  fishing  circles.  A  party  of  visitors  at  the  "Lamb" 
had  once  paid  a  shilling  each  into  a  pool  which  was 
to  be  scooped  by  the  first  of  them  who  caught  Edward 
by  fair  fly-fishing.  He  was  not  caught  then,  and  he 
is  still  not  caught.  You  pay  your  shilling  and  you 
take  your  chance  of  Edward  and  a  prize  which  is 
said  to  be  now  worth  more  than  twenty  pounds.  The 
water,  as  I  told  Bat,  was  quite  used  up.  I  proposed, 
therefore,  to  tap  The  Benson  for  a  week-end  visit,  and 
bring  Bat  over.  We  could  not  very  well  drive  up  on 
a  Sunday  morning. 

Bat  thought  it  a  good  idea,  and  at  once  filled  in 
what  he  regarded  as  the  most  important  details.  I 
was  to  provide  the  sandwiches,  as  those  supplied  by 
the  hotel  would  be  very  dull,  and  he  would  bring 
something  to  keep  out  the  damp.  "I  feel  sorry, 
already,  for  those  trout,"  he  concluded. 


MY  ABORTIVE  ATTEMPT  39 

Bat  is  not  an  expert  fly-fisher.  He  has  all  the 
cheerfulness  and  imperturbability  that  go  to  make 
one,  but  he  has  not  the  aptitude.  He  has  a  genius 
for  catching  fish  in  all  sorts  of  unheard-of  ways.  He 
hooked  a  trout  by  the  tail.  He  took  a  frog  on  a 
may-fly.  He  caught  a  heavy  grayling,  which  an  hour 
before  had  broken  me,  by  getting  his  hook  foul  of 
my  cast  which  the  fish  was  trailing  about.  He  had 
allowed  his  line  to  lie  out  on  the  water  and  sink 
while  he  filled  his  pipe,  and  I  can  hear  now  his 
joyous  shouts,  when,  on  taking  up  his  rod,  he  found, 
as  he  thought,  that  he  had  hooked  a  fish  by  such 
idle  methods.  I  secretly  observe  him  sometimes, 
when  sport  is  slow,  allowing  his  line  to  sink  un- 
heeded, evidently  in  the  hope  that  the  miracle  may 
happen  again. 

Bat  has,  however,  fallen  from  the  high  ambition 
of  his  initiation,  when  he  struck  at  a  small  rising 
trout,  hooked  it  under  the  belly,  and  whipped  it  up 
thirty  feet  into  the  top  of  an  ash  tree.  He  has  formed 
a  taste  for  bottom  fishing.  He  does  not  call  it 
"fishing,"  however.  His  name  for  the  sport  is 
"drowning  worms." 

"I  drowned  some  worms  three  weeks  ago  near 
Weltham  on  the  Broads,"  he  told  me  as  we  bustled 
along.  "I  hired  a  boat  and  a  rod  after  breakfast 
from  the  hotel,  where  I  was  putting  in  a  short 
alcoholic  rest,  and  rowed  down  the  river  looking  for 
a  likely  spot.  I  went  a  long  way  without  seeming 
to  smell  any  fish,  and  then  I  came  to  a  sort  of  inlet. 


40  THOMAS 

I  pushed  through  some  rushes  and  found  a  capital 
bit  of  water,  with  a  rustic  summer-house  at  the  far 
end  under  some  trees,  so  I  tied  up  and  began  to 
fish.  It  was  all  right,  I  tell  you.  I  caught  fish,  one 
after  another.  How  big?  Oh!  I  don't  know  how 
big.  One  or  two  pounds,  I  should  say — four  or  five 
perhaps ;  not  so  big  as  salmon,  but  nice,  fat  fish.  No, 
I  don't  know  what  sort  of  fish.  They  were  simply 
fish — you  know  what  a  fish  is  like?  It  is  wet  and 
has  a  tail  and  dances  about — well,  mine  were  like 
that.  I  tell  you  the  boat  was  beginning  to  sink — 
well,  anyhow,  it  looked  as  if  it  would.  It's  a 
fact.  I  even  began  to  be  afraid  there  would  not 
be  enough  worms  to  go  round.  Then  a  boy 
came  to  the  far  bank  of  the  river  and  began 
shouting  something  about  'Mr.  Cook'  and  the 
'time.'  I  was  too  busy  to  pay  much  attention, 
but  after  five  minutes  it  dawned  upon  me  that 
I  was  catching  'time'  fish  belonging  to  Mr.  Cook:  but 
I  tell  you  what!  Tame  fish  are  the  right  sort  to  go 
after.  Don't  forget  that!  What  one  wants  is  fish 
that  are  nice  and  tame  and  lots  of  them — the  tamer 
the  better.  No  fish  is  too  tame  for  me." 

By  half -past  four  we  were  at  the  Lamb  Hotel, 
"Fradford,  and  three  minutes  later  Bat's  luggage  had 
been  carried  off,  and  he  himself  was  interviewing  the 
lady  with  the  fair  hair  and  earrings,  who  lives  in  the 
glass  retort  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  asking 
searching  questions  about  his  bed.  How  big  was  it? 
What  was  the  mattress  stuffed  with?  Would  it  bear 


MY  ABORTIVE  ATTEMPT  41 

his  weight?  Could  she  guess  what  his  weight  was? 
etc.  The  quality  of  being  able  to  behave  in  this  way 
without  offensiveness  or  loss  of  dignity,  and  the  more 
remarkable  quality  of  finding  unending  amusement  in 
it,  are  quite  special  to  Bat. 

Meanwhile  I  started  off  in  Susan  on  my  visit  to 
The  Benson  so  that  I  might  not  miss  the  auspicious 
occasion  of  his  tea-table. 

I  call  Richard  Everard  Benson,  Esquire,  J.P.,  "The 
Benson"  because  the  term  is  precise  and  grammatical. 
In  my  boyhood  The  Bensons  were  a  large  family. 
Since  then,  daughters  have  married,  sons  have  left 
home.  The  head  of  the  family  now  lives  alone  at 
Cradhall  Court,  and  when  I  go  there,  I  go  definitely 
to  see  The  Benson,  i.e.  the  solitary,  final  residuum  of 
The  Bensons. 

The  Benson  has  spent  his  life  aching.  He  always 
seems  to  have  a  grievance  too  deep  for  words  and 
too  well  understood  to  need  explanation.  Yet  my 
mother  exclaimed,  "What  do  you  mean,  my  son?" 
when  a  little  time  ago  I  mentioned  that  "The  Benson 
was  aching  up  in  Town." 

What  I  referred  to  is  the  fact  that  The  Benson 
spends  his  waking  hours  with  one  eyebrow  raised 
and  the  other  depressed  to  the  extreme  limits  of  mus- 
cular contraction.  If  you  catch  him  dozing  you  will 
see  that  his  forehead  has  taken  a  permanent  set  from 
loss  of  elasticity  of  the  membrane  arising  from  this 
habit  of  nursing  a  grievance.  The  Benson  aches 
through  meals.  He  aches  as  he  reads.  He  aches  at 


42  THOMAS 

a  joke.  This  is  not  the  result  of  troubles  or  anxieties 
or  of  ill-health.  It  is  a  pose.  If  anyone  asked  me 
when  he  first  began  to  ache  I  should  find  out 
when  he  first  wrote  poetry  and  fix  the  date  at 
that. 

The  first  thing  a  man  usually  does  when  he  is  led 
to  try  his  hand  at  verse-making  is  to  discover  that 
he  is  a  poet.  I  am  a  poet;  but  I  am  redeemed  by 
not  being  an  ass  as  well.  The  Benson  is  not  so  re- 
deemed. Astounded  by  the  amazing  revelation,  he 
laid  himself  out  to  be  a  poet  on  the  large  plan.  The 
writing  of  poetry  was  a  secondary  matter.  Many 
poets,  he  knew,  did  not  publish  a  line  for  years 
together.  The  great  thing  was  to  be  a  poet,  and 
The  Benson's  aspirations  are  still  proclaimed  by  his 
dress. 

His  first  difficulty  was,  of  course,  that  one  cannot 
begin  to  be  a  poet  until  other  people  have  accepted 
the  fact.  Otherwise  they  say:  "What's  wrong?" 
"Buck  up,  lad!"  "Why  so  moldy?"  etc.  etc.,  while 
all  the  time  you  are  merely  trying  to  be  a  poet.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  they  know  you  are  a  poet,  they 
regard  your  demeanor  with  respect.  The  Benson's 
own  family,  of  course,  knew  he  was  a  bit  of  a  poet, 
but  a  man  cannot  impress  his  own  belongings.  Lit- 
erary glamor  is  a  fragile  thing.  For  my  part,  by 
the  time  I  have  seen  a  man  eat  a  poached  egg  I 
have  no  desire  to  read  anything  he  has  written. 

I  can  entirely  enter  into  The  Benson's  feelings  and 
sympathize  with  him.  Knowing  that  he  was  a  poet 


43 

he  would  be  well  aware  that  he  necessarily  felt  things 
more  deeply;  was  more  subtly  appreciative  of  the 
appeals  of  nature;  more  sensitive  to  the  changing 
phases  of  the  soul ;  more  awake  to  the  consciousness 
of  the  finer  essence  and  spirit  of  life  and  of  the 
universe,  and  all  that  sort  of  rot,  than  other  people. 
Such  self-approbation  is  no  easy  load  for  a  man  to 
carry;  and  when  it  is  remembered  that  the  precious 
burden  has  not  only  to  be  borne  in  secret  but  is 
liable  to  come  into  collision  with  the  attributes  of 
common  minds,  it  will  be  realized  that  the  job  a  poet 
tackles  is  not  a  job  to  be  sniffed  at  by  any  manner 
of  means. 

The  Benson,  conscious  that,  as  a  poet,  life  held 
for  him  refinements  of  delight  which  were  denied  to 
the  common  herd,  would  get  up  in  the  dark  to  play 
the  fool  with  a  sunrise.  He  would  pace  the  garden 
in  full  view  of  the  house,  gathering  sweetness  from 
the  reflection  that  the  dawn  was  breaking  upon  him 
and  that  the  great  poet  would  soon  glow  in  the 
"ruddy,  effulgent  beams  of  the  sun."  He  would 
ponder  the  spiritual  grandeur  of  his  employment  and 
fondle  the  idea  that  it  linked  him  with  the  very  salt 
of  the  earth.  He  would  build  up  sublime  thoughts 
around  the  humblest  objects ;  smile  raptly,  with  nod- 
ding head,  at  the  silver  trail  of  a  slug  across  the 
gravel;  and  dote  on  the  flash  of  genius  which  pre- 
sented to  his  mind  "dye  me"  as  a  rhyme  to  "slimy." 
He  would  feel  that  a  poet  thus  employed  ought  not 
to  hear  the  gong,  and  that  he  ought  to  start 


44  THOMAS 

-violently   when   he   was   called   to   go   to   breakfast. 

All  this  no  doubt  was  exhilarating,  but  in  order 
to  get  other  people  to  agree  that  he  is  a  poet  a  man 
must  actually  publish  a  poem  or  two.  This  is  not 
so  easy  as  might  be  supposed.  Certainly  he  may  sub- 
mit a  poem  to  any  editor  he  chooses,  but  will  that 
editor  keep  it?  That  is  the  point.  The  Benson 
probably  found  that  editors  sometimes  did  keep  his 
poems,  but  that  this  only  happened  when  they  had 
not  been  accompanied  with  a  "stamped  and  addressed 
envelope,  a  stamped  and  addressed  cover,  or  a 
stamped  and  addressed  wrapper."  The  Benson  is  not 
the  man  to  grudge  the  editor  a  stamp;  he  would  cer- 
tainly make  no  demur  about  throwing  in  an  envelope ; 
but  he  might  well  shrink  from  presenting  the  envelope 
already  stamped  and  addressed.  It  would  make  it 
so  perilously  easy  for  the  editor  to  return  his  poem; 
whereas  if  that  editor  knew  he  had  to  stick  on  the 
stamp  and  address  the  envelope  he  might  think  twice 
about  rejecting  Benson's  heart-throb. 

It  may  have  been  such  experiences  as  these  which 
galled  The  Benson  to  publish  in  volume  form.  To 
do  this  he  had  to  find  a  publisher  whose  reputation 
was  already  wrecked  and  pay  him  for  the  job  of 
printing  and  distributing  (a)  Haec  aut  Nulla,  (b) 
The  Sublime  Intensity,  and  (c)  The  Carrion  Crowd. 
The  two  first  were  published  simultaneously,  and  this 
gives  color  to  my  belief  that,  when  he  went  to  the 
publishers,  our  author  was  at  the  point  of  bursting 
with  suppressed  poeticality.  The  Carrion  Crowd  ap- 


MY  ABORTIVE  ATTEMPT  45 

peared  rather  more  than  a  year  afterwards,  and  is 
no  less  than  a  sporting  attempt  on  the  part  of  The 
Benson  (Ref.  Life  of  Lord  Byron)  to  square  accounts 
with  a  public  that  ignored  his  books,  and  with  critics 
who  gave  it  first-class  reasons  for  doing  so.  He 
considers  that  the  wit  latent  in  the  title  should  alone 
have  made  the  work  famous,  as  by  altering  one 
letter  only  it  becomes  Carrion  Crows.  I  pointed  out 
to  him  that  in  this  title,  which  compares  his  readers 
to  vultures,  he  entirely  gives  himself  away  by  sug- 
gesting that  his  verses  are  putrid,  a  harder  word 
than  any  which  has  yet  been  applied  to  them. 

"Oh  dear  no!"  said  The  Benson.  "That's  not  at 
all  the  way  to  look  at  it." 

Well  well !  The  publishers  printed  his  books,  but 
the  question  of  distribution  remained  a  problem. 
With  a  fly-blown  copy  of  Haec  open  at  page  43 
("Dear  Thames,  I  love,  love,  love  you")  bleaching 
in  the  window  of  the  Fradford  newsagent,  where  in 
November  I  have  seen  it  competing  for  public  favor 
with  cheap  fireworks;  and  with  many  cubic  yards  of 
stock  cumbering  the  cellars  of  his  publishers,  The 
Benson  bethought  him  of  his  friends'  birthdays  to 
the  extent  of  three  consecutive  birthdays  to  each 
friend  as  follows:  first  birthday,  Haec  ant  Nulla; 
second  birthday,  The  Sublime  Intensity;  third  birth- 
day, The  Carrion  Crowd.  It  was  immediately  after 
the  third  birthday  that  philanthropy  was  made  to 
serve  its  turn  and  give  our  poet  a  further  hoist. 

I  came  down  to  breakfast  one  morning  and  found 


46  THOMAS 

a  postal  packet  by  my  plate.  I  cut  the  string  with 
interest. 

"Why,"  I  exclaimed,  "it's  that  brute  Haec  on  the 
job  again." 

Such  indeed  was  the  fact.  Folded  into  the  title- 
page  was  a  printed  slip  stating  that  the  profits  from 
the  sale  of  the  book  would  be  paid  to  the  "Decayed 
Gentlewomen's  Relief  Society,"  and  that  "Three  and 
tenpence  should  be  sent  to  Richard  Everard  Benson, 
Esquire,  J.P."  It  was  a  shrewd  stroke,  I  admit.  I 
do  not  know  what  tonnage  of  volumes  The  Benson 
got  rid  of  by  this  device  but  I  observed  that  he  has 
now  hit  upon  another  method  of  planting  out  his 
verses,  which,  to  do  him  justice,  is  most  ingenious. 
He  brings  out  anthologies  and  smuggles  some  of  his 
own  poems  in  with  the  rest.  He  grows  in  boldness. 
He  lately  sent  me  a  publisher's  notice  of  Selected 
Sonnets  by  Shakespeare,  Herrick,  and  Benson. 

The  lodge-keeper  at  Cradhall  Court  told  me  that 
her  master  was  at  home,  but  that  there  were  not 
any  visitors!  Susan  went  sedately  along  the  mag- 
nificent avenue  of  beeches  which  leads  to  the  house. 
We  passed  the  turning  to  the  stables  and  opened  up 
the  gardens,  and  I  saw  The  Benson  sitting  under  a 
tree  some  distance  away,  aching  all  over.  As  Susan 
ran  "free"  and  silent  round  the  sweep  of  the  drive, 
a  little  table-fed  dog  I  well  remembered,  with  wisps 
of  white  hair  on  a  pink  skin,  barked  at  me  like  a 
sheep  coughing  two  fields  away.  That  bark  settled 
it.  It  brought  overwhelmingly  upon  me  all  the  de- 


MY  ABORTIVE  ATTEMPT  47 

pressing  associations  of  The  Benson,  pure  and  un- 
diluted, in  the  empty  house.  I  funked  it.  Susan 
roared  as  I  wildly  jammed  in  the  gears  and  opened 
the  throttle,  and  as  she  swept  round  past  the  front 
door  I  saw  The  Benson  start  to  his  feet  and  stand 
amazed.  We  rushed  on;  completed  the  loop;  and 
hurtled  with  passionate  eagerness  down  the  drive, 
back  to  the  "Lamb"  and  to  Bat.  The  lodge-keeper, 
who  was  talking  to  a  friend  in  the  road  as  we 
clanged  into  view,  ran  and  opened  the  gate  as 
though  to  save  it  from  being  smashed,  and  we 
raged  forth  upon  the  road  to  Fradford. 
So  here  I  am. 

Just  as  I  finished  writing  the  above  Bat  strolled 
in,  having  used  up  the  barmaid  for  the  time  being 
and  decided  to  give  her  a  rest.  He  announced  that 
he  was  going  in  for  the  "Eddy  Sweep." 

"It's  perfectly  useless,"  I  told  him.  "The  best  of 
the  fishing  is  over  now.  You  will  only  disappoint 
yourself,  and  you're  going  back  on  Monday  morning. 
You  had  much  better  fish  the  Legewater  with  me. 
There  will  be  a  little  color  in  it,  and  it  holds  plenty  of 
nice  fish." 

"I'm  going  to  leave  another  hook  or  two  in 
Edward,"  Bat  persisted,  "or  I  shall  be  able  to  tell 
you  why  not.  I  was  talking  to  a  chap  in  the  bar 
just  now,  and  he  said  Edward  weighed  at  least  seven 
pounds.  He  is  always  in  the  same  hole,  and  they 
have  put  a  fence  round  him  to  keep  off  poachers. 


48  THOMAS 

He  told  me  Ben  is  missing.  He  has  not  been  seen 
since  early  in  the  season.  He  said  the  fish  they 
called  Sammy  was  caught  this  year  by  a  schoolboy 
who  had  been  brought  down  by  his  father.  The 
wretched  father  handed  the  rod  to  his  son  to  hold 
for  a  moment  and  the  boy  played  about  with  it  and 
caught  Sammy  at  once.  He  had,  just  before,  seen 
him  and  thrown  a  stone  at  him.  I  tell  you  what  it 
is,"  Bat  ended,  "you  fellows  know  a  lot,  but  the  fish 
know  all  you  know.  The  boy  got  Sammy  off  his 
guard  because  he  was  fishing  wrong.  If  he  had  been 
fishing  the  right  way,  Sammy  would  be  Sammy  still. 
That's  how  I  look  at  it.  He  weighed  four  pounds 
eleven  and  a  half  ounces  exactly,  Sammy  did.  I'll 
tell  you  what  Edward  weighs,  exactly,  before  you 
get  into  bed  tomorrow  night." 

After  a  pause  and  a  short  cough  he  went  on: 

"Look  here,  I've  got  an  explanation  to  make,"  and 
he  paused  again. 

"Well?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  you  know  that  time — when  I  thought  I  had 
mistaken  the  day,  I  mean." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do — you  can't  have  forgotten —  you 
know — that  time  when  I  couldn't  find  you." 

I  had  no  idea  what  he  was  talking  about.  He 
went  on: 

"Well,  I've  looked  up  your  letter  and  you  dis- 
tinctly said  you  would  be  waiting  in  the  car.  So 
that's  how  it  was — No!  look  out,  you'll  upset  this 


MY  ABORTIVE  ATTEMPT  49 

stuff — I  only  just  want  to  explain  how  it  was  I 
couldn't  find  you.  If  you  had  told  me  you  would 
be  unddjr  the  car — No!  All  right;  but  what  I  am 
going  to  say  now,  is  serious.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is. 
I'm  going  to  have  a  bit  more  of  that  cheese  before 
I  go  to  bed:  you  see  if  I  don't.  It  will  go  splen- 
didly with  this  cherry  brandy.  It's  not  every  day 
one  meets  a  cheese  like  that,  remember.  You'd  better 
have  some,  too." 

The  table  was  laid,  and  while  Bat,  the  embodi- 
ment of  radiant  content  and  good  humor,  was  eating 
his  cheese,  he  told  me  he  once  possessed  a  very  fine 
Blue  Vinney  which  every  one  but  himself  found 
rather  too  strong.  It  was  kept  in  a  particular  cellar 
with  the  door  shut  when  not  in  use.  At  that  time 
the  house  was  being  painted,  and  when  the  account 
was  sent  in,  there  was  an  item  of  "extra  for  dirty- 
money  to  men  painting  in  cellar."  Bat  explains  that 
"dirty-money"  is  recompense  claimed  by  a  workman 
when  he  does  work  of  a  disgusting  character  which 
he  could  not  be  expected  to  undertake. 

When  Bat  went  to  get  his  candle,  I  cut  a  slice 
from  the  cheese,  put  it  into  an  envelope,  followed 
him  upstairs  to  his  room,  and  hid  it  under  his 
pillow. 

"Happy  dreams,  old  lad,"  I  said  as  I  left 
him. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BAT    VERNON    AND    HIS    "BLUE    WAGTAIL" 

WHEN  Boots  woke  me  in  the  morning  by 
chinking  the  jug  of  shaving-water  against  the 
wash-basin,  I  felt  full  of  beans.  Curly  white  clouds, 
gliding  from  the  southwest  across  a  blue  rain-washed 
sky,  promised  good  fishing.  All  was  well. 

I  hailed  Bat  to  his  bath  after  leaving  mine.  His 
room  called  dimly  to  mind  a  grocer's  shop.  I  lifted 
the  blankets,  put  his  boots  in  bed  with  him,  covered 
him  up  again  and  left  him. 

Walking  through  the  archway,  which  led  under 
the  house  from  the  yard,  into  the  cool  sunlit  street, 
my  eye  fell  on  bottles  of  stuffed  olives  displayed  in 
the  window  of  a  shop.  They  reminded  me  of  Nita, 
and  I  determined  to  send  her  a  bottle  as  a  peace- 
offering.  Then  I  thought  better  of  it.  She  had  no 
business  to  tell  me  I  was  greedy.  But  I  thought  I 
might  perhaps  as  well  send  her  one  after  all,  just 
to  show  I  did  not  mind — for,  of  course,  I  don't  care 
what  she  says:  it's  all  her  nonsense.  After  that  it 
seemed  to  me  I  was  making  too  much  of  it  all,  and 

50 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"       51 

that  it  would  look  sentimental.  It  is  true  Nita  said 
I  ought  to  be  more  sentimental  than  I  am.  On  the 
whole,  I  have  decided  to  send  her  a  bottle — tomorrow. 
Just  a  small  one. 

I  strolled  back  to  the  inn  yard,  and  found  an  ostler 
washing  down  Susan.  A  few  words  about  Susan  will 
not  be  amiss. 

She  was  not  my  first.  Bill  the  Buzzer  gave  me 
serious  employment  for  part  of  two  seasons  before 
Susan  came  on  the  scene.  He  was  a  six-horsepower 
motor-bicycle  with  side-car  and  a  patent  two-speed 
gear  in  his  back  hub.  [This  matter  is  somewhat 
technical,  and  the  uninformed  reader  should  skip  to 
the  next  paragraph.]  Four  and  a  quarter  of  Bill's 
six  horse  was  taken  up  in  driving  his  patent  gears 
round,  and  what  was  left  over  was  not  enough  for 
his  requirements  as  a  motor-bicycle  with  side-car  and 
two  passengers.  Bill's  back  hub  was  an  air-cooled 
back  hub;  the  spokes  acted  as  radiators  and  pre- 
vented the  gears  from  getting  too  hot.  It  took  from 
five  to  seven  miles,  traveling  at  fair  speed,  to  bring 
the  hub  to  a  blue  heat  and  make  it  smoke.  This  was 
due  to  the  bearings,  which  fed  their  balls  out  one 
or  two  at  a  time  into  the  hub  and,  accordingly,  the 
chief  work  done  by  the  engine  was  the  grinding  up 
of  chilled  steel  and  oil  into  a  firm  paste  having  the 
appearance  of  plumbago  but  no  commercial  value. 
Bill's  limit  of  speed  at  any  particular  time  varied, 
therefore,  with  the  size  and  number  of  balls  he  migh" 
at  the  moment  be  engaged  in  digesting.  Bill  the 


52  THOMAS 

Buzzer  would  travel  about  fifteen  hundred  miles 
before  his  ball  bearings  were  assimilated  and  it  be- 
came necessary  to  give  him  a  new  back  wheel  and 
start  him  off  afresh. 

The  reasons  which  decided  me  to  part  with  the 
Buzzer  were,  in  the  main,  surgical.  They  were 
prompted  by  repeated  gun-shots  in  the  leg,  caused  by 
the  patent  sparking-plug  continually  blowing  out  and 
shooting  me  in  the  old  wound.  They  were,  however, 
partly  dictated  by  the  exigencies  of  social  expedi- 
ency, as  it  does  not  do  when  invited  out  to  dinner 
to  arrive  forty  minutes  late  with  your  coat-tails  torn 
off.  Mine  got  wound  up  in  the  back  wheel.  Accord- 
ingly I  disposed  of  Bill  the  Buzzer,  and,  in  so  doing, 
I  am  very  sorry  to  say,  also  disposed  of  an  Inter- 
national Rugby  footballer.  My  successor  did  not 
'treat  all  Bill's  patents  with  due  respect,  with  the  result 
that  one  day  the  gears  seized  up  and  the  pedals, 
suddenly  whirling  round  like  the  propellors  of  an  aero- 
plane, stripped  the  calves  off  his  legs  before  he  could 
say  "What  ho!" 

When  I  first  decided  to  get  a  car  I  went  to  the 
Motor  Show  to  see  what  was  to  be  had.  My  method 
of  selection  was  defective,  I  admit.  It  had  the  merit 
of  simplicity,  but  I  am  now  aware  that  it  did  not 
go  far  enough.  My  system  was  to  test  the  cushions. 
I  would  pick  out  one  or  two  cars  which  specially 
attracted  me  by  their  shape  and  color ;  get  into  one ; 
rub  myself  well  into  the  seat;  and  then,  without  any 
loss  of  time,  skip  off  to  the  next  and  rub  myself 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"       53 

into  the  seat  of  that  so  as  to  compare  sensations 
while  they  were  yet  vivid.  I  would  repeat  this  until 
I  could  recognize  each  by  touch,  so  to  speak,  and  thus- 
gauge  their  respective  merits  to  a  nicety. 

It  was  while  I  was  occupied  with  my  tests  and 
was  in  the  act  of  running  across  on  tiptoe  to  a 
bottle-blue  "Rover"  with  my  every  faculty  strained 
to  hold  the  sensations  that  instant  derived  from  the 
crimson  seat  of  a  green  "Wolseley,"  that  I  cannoned 
into  Williams.  He  is  a  neighbor  of  ours,  and  the  first 
of  the  daily  duties  I  set  myself  is  to  avoid  getting 
into  the  same  carriage  with  him  on  the  journey  up 
to  town.  He  is  a  loud,  commonplace  man,  with  his 
mouth  entirely  hidden  with  a  moustache  that  serves 
as  soup-strainer  and  respirator.  What  employs  him 
is  not  known,  but  I  always  imagine  he  is  some  sort 
of  auctioneer. 

Williams  greeted  me  with  a  roar  of  recognition 
and  shook  hands  warmly.  It  was  as  if  we  had  met 
in  Bagdad.  It  was  useless  to  disguise  the  fact  that 
I  was  contemplating  the  purchase  of  a  car.  Had  I 
known  it,  my  only  defence  was  to  insist  on  selling 
a  car  to  Williams.  As  it  was,  I  was  his  natural 
prey.  He  enfolded  me.  I  thought  I  had  escaped  when 
I  finally  told  him  I  had  no  intention  of  buying  a  new 
car.  At  parting,  however,  he  said  that  on  second 
thoughts  he  felt  sure  that  I  was  wise  to  go  in  for  a 
second-hand  car  if  I  could  find  just  what  I  wanted. 

The  next  scene  was  played  on  our  front  drive 
when  one  evening  Williams  arrived  with  Susan. 


54  THOMAS 

Williams  had  found  just  what  I  wanted,  for  me. 
For  persuasiveness  he  relied  chiefly  on  noise.  His 
voice  made  me  feel  ashamed  for  the  garden.  He 
showed  off  Susan's  paces  in  a  fury  of  enthusiasm. 
He  answered  all  my  objections;  he  raised  objections 
himself  and  answered  them ;  and  he  answered  imagi- 
nary objections  that  might  conceivably,  be  raised  by 
others.  His  ardor,  and  disinterested  conviction,  over- 
whelmed me.  In  order  not  to  dash  him  too  much, 
I  said:  "She  seems  just  the  sort  of  car  I  want." 

A  little  time  after  it  dawned  upon  me  that  Williams 
had  understood  me  to  say  I  would  buy  Susan.  That 
was  why  he  nodded  to  the  man  who  brought  the 
car  and  who  thereupon  went  off.  That  was  why  he 
wiped  the  lining  of  his  hat  with  his  handkerchief. 
That  was  why  he  said  he  was  very  glad  he  came, 
asked  if  he  should  just  run  Susan  into  the  coach- 
liouse  for  me,  and  told  me  I  had  better  make  the 
cheque  payable  to  him,  as  he  would  have  to  post  a 
cheque  that  night.  Thus  it  was  that  I  became  the 
owner  of  Susan,  almost  unbeknown. 

But  I  never  allow  anyone  to  say  a  word  against 
Susan.  Even  Bat  admits  that  she  "gets  there."  It 
took  a  little  time  to  find  out  exactly  what  parts 
needed  renewing,  and  which  only  repair,  but  since  then 
Susan  has  been  the  delight  of  my  heart.  It  adds 
pleasure  to  one's  traveling  to  know  that  the  excellent 
performance  of  one's  car  relies  upon  the  applica- 
tion of  a  navvy's  leather  garter  to  the  joint  of  a 
-circulating  pipe;  and  to  be  aware,  when  the  engine 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"       5$ 

fails  in  a  particular  way,  that  nothing  is  wanted  but 
a  new  paper-fastener  on  the  commutator  lever.  1 
once  ran  Susan  sixty  miles  on  a  hairpin  begged  from 
a  lady  on  a  bicycle ;  and  most  of  Susan's  ills  can  be 
cured  with  a  bootlace  or  an  old  nail.  If  you  showed 
a  bit  of  wire  oil  a  soda-water  bottle  to  a  Rolls  Royce 
the  thing  would  hoot  at  you.  Susan,  on  the  other 
hand,  would  be  grateful  for  it,  and  that  is  why 
I  dote  on  her  so  much. 

Speaking  of  hooting,  reminds  me  that  Susan's 
hooter  is  the  most  up-to-date  thing  about  her.  You 
simply  pull  a  wire  and  it  makes  a  noise  like  a  rhin- 
oceros coughing.  It  is  designed  to  lift  children  and 
dogs  from  Susan's  path.  It  will  also  partly  lift  in- 
valid old  ladies  out  of  Bath-chairs,  and  it  once  made 
an  architect  fall  off  a  ladder.  Last  year  it  put  Bat 
out  of  temper  for  nearly  a  minute.  It  was  his  first 
introduction  to  Susan.  In  describing  the  points  of 
the  little  car,  I  told  him  that  when  the  engine  w?.s 
running  there  was  a  leakage  from  the  electric  accumu- 
lators through  the  cap  of  the  radiator. 

"Why!"    What  does  it  do?"  asked  Bat. 

"It  gives  you  a  little  shock,  nothing  to  speak  of.. 
Touch  it." 

Bat  bent  down  and  examined  the  cap  suspiciously. 
Then  he  slowly  approached  his  forefinger;  pulled  it 
away  apprehensively ;  advanced  it  again ;  drew  it  back, 
and  at  last  made  a  little  dab  and  lightly  touched  the 
brass.  At  the  same  moment  I  let  off  the  hooter  at 
his  elbow. 


56  THOMAS 

Bat  tries  to  compensate  himself  for  the  shock  of 
this  experience  by  playing  the  trick  on  everyone  he 
can  inveigle.  His  method  does  not,  however,  inspire 
confidence,  and  he  never  produces  an  effect  at  all 
equal  to  the  agonized  convulsion  with  which  he  re- 
warded me. 


When  Bat  came  down  to  breakfast  he  sniffed  the 
steam  of  his  coffee  with  gusto. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  T,'"  he  said;  "I  made  a 
mistake  with  that  cheese  last  night." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  it  does  not  do  to  take  a  cheese  like  that 
just  before  going  to  bed.  It  persists.  One  can't 
forget  it.  One  lies  awake  in  bed  and  feels  one  is 
getting  tired  of  cheese.  One  does  not  look  forward 
to  tomorrow's  cheese  as  much  as  one  ought." 

"Did  you  dream  of  it?" 

"No,  I  didn't  dream  of  it.  In  point  of  fact,  I 
dreamed  I  was  down  a  drain.  You  know,  there's 
something  queer  about  that  cheese.  It's  a  very  tena- 
cious cheese.  I  shall  pass  cheese  today." 

It  was  while  we  were  walking  down  to  the  river 
half  an  hour  later  that  Bat  startled  me  by  telling 
me  that  he  was  thinking  of  getting  married. 

I  stood  for  a  moment.  The  idea  of  dear  old  Bat 
Vernon  being  married  gave  me  quite  a  shock.  It 
seemed  such  a  solemn  idea  for  Bat.  It  was  as  though 
he  were  taking  a  step  towards  death.  Birth,  Mar- 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"       57 

riage,  Death — that  is  the  epitome  of  human  life  given 
in  the  front  page  of  the  daily  papers.  It  was  dis- 
tressing to  think  of  Bat  as  already  preparing  for 
his  coffin.  These  thoughts  flashed  through  my  mind. 
I  was  incredulous. 

"Rot!"  I  exclaimed. 

"It's  a  solemn  fact,"  said  Bat.  "You  ask  Kate 
Vassaleur  if  it  isn't." 

He  was  engaged,  then !  A  gulf  seemed  to  open  be- 
tween us.  I  said  complainingly : 

"Well,  you  need  not  have  told  me  so  soon.  You 
might  at  least  have  waited  till  I  was  seeing  you  off." 

"Why?"  said  Bat.  "It  won't  make  any  differ- 
ence." 

"It's  all  very  well,"  he  went  on,  "but  I'll  tell  you 
what  it  is.  It's  no  good  putting  off  a  job  like  this 
till  you  are  too  old.  Some  of  these  girls — the  pick 
of  them,  in  fact — are  confoundedly  particular,  you 
must  know  that.  I'm  going  to  begin  to  get  bald  soon. 
Can  you  fancy  me  wanting  to  marry  the  sort  of 
girl  who  would  be  content  with  a  husband  who 
showed  a  bald  place  behind  when  he  had  his  hat  on?" 

"But  that  does  not  apply  to  me.  I  am  not  going 
to  get  bald  yet." 

"Oh,  well,  there  are  worse  things  than  going 
bald,"  said  Bat.  "You're  just  the  sort  of  chap  to 
get  up  one  fine  morning  and  find  hair  growing  out 
of  your  ears." 

I  was  annoyed  with  Bat.  It  is  no  joking  matter 
growing  old.  On  the  other  hand,  were  these  the 


58  THOMAS 

reasons  that  induce  men  to  marry?  There  if  a.  mys- 
tery about  it.  Has  Bat  really  opened  my  eyes?  Has 
he  let  me  into  a  secret? 

Bat  was  eager  to  get  to  work  on  Edward.  When 
we  turned  off  the  road  he  pounded  along  the  back 
in  his  stockings  with  half-leg  spats,  and  his  frieze 
coat  with  leather  collar  and  buttons,  and  lots  of 
waist,  scaring  the  trout,  which  fled  from  him  up 
and  down  the  stream,  and  spoiling  the  fishing  for 
an  hour  to  come.  The  Watcher's  cottage,  with  a 
six-foot  spiked  iron  fence  and  barbed  wire  tangled 
along  the  top,  appeared  in  view.  We  passed  through 
a  gate.  A  woman  came  out  to  the  door. 

"Any  tickets  for  the  Sweep,  gentlemen?" 

Bat  presented  himself  as  a  candidate.  He  had 
many  questions  to  ask.  Would  he  have  a  better 
chance  if  he  bought  two  tickets?  What  sort  of  a 
hook  did  Edward  like  best?  Could  he  see  the  money 
in  the  pool  so  as  to  get  an  appetite  for  the  job?  and 
so  forth.  The  woman  did  not  respond  to  his  banter. 
He  paid  two  shillings — one  to  the  pool,  and  one  for 
the  Watcher.  The  woman  told  us  that  the  total 
amount  of  the  pool  was  twenty-seven  pounds  sixteen. 
Bat  asked  whether  she  had  counted  in  his  shilling, 
or  whether  he  would  get  that  back  in  addition.  "I 
want  to  know  exactly  how  I  stand,"  he  explained. 

After  we  left  the  cottage  he  went  back  and  asked 
for  an  introduction.  "I  have  never  met  Edward,"  he 
said.  "Where  is  he?" 

The    woman    complained    that    her    husband    was 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"       39 

about  somewhere,  but,  not  seeing  him,  she  put  on 
some  clogs  and  led  us  down  to  the  river.  At  a 
place  where  the  current  had  eroded  a  small  bay  below 
an  alder  bush  she  peered  over  the  bank,  pointed  down- 
wards, and  left  us. 

We  advanced  cautiously  and  looked,  and  behold! 
there  was  Edward.  He  floated  like  a  balloon  in, 
a  deep  swirl  of  water  sweeping  under  the  bank.  He 
was  about  two  feet  below  the  surface,  and  he  swung 
as  immovably  in  the  heavy  current  as  though  he  had 
been  anchored.  One  had  to  look  closely  to  notice 
the  almost  imperceptible  movement  of  the  mighty 
tail  of  the  huge  fish.  He  was  well  aware  that  we 
were  looking  at  him,  for  he  careened  over  to  one 
side  a  little  so  as  to  bring  an  eye  to  bear  on  us. 
It  was  evident  that  he  was  distrustful. 

Bat  glanced  cautiously  about  him,  slowly  raised 
the  handle  of  his  landing-net  above  his  shoulder,  and 
sent  it  with  all  his  force,  like  a  javelin,  fiercely  down 
upon  Edward's  devoted  head.  It  would  have  been 
a  blackguard  act  in  anyone  but  Bat,  but  it  seemed 
that  Edward  was  used  to  it.  As  the  shaft  cut  the 
water  he  jerked  his  head  to  one  side  like  a  boxer 
avoiding  a  straight  left,  and  it  missed  him  by  two 
inches.  Bat  hastily  made  another  wild  stab,  on 
which  Edward  glided  forward  with  perfect  dignity 
until  he  was  lost  in  the  shadows  of  deeper  water. 

"They'll  put  you  in  prison,"  I  said.  "You've  got 
to  kill  him  by  fair  fly-fishing.  You've  spoilt  your 
chance  for  this  morning  now." 


60  THOMAS 

"I  wasn't  trying  to  kill  him,"  said  Bat.  "I  only 
wanted  to  stun  him  a  bit  and  muddle  up  his  brains. 
It's  almost  useless  trying  to  catch  a  fish  like  that 
when  his  head  is  clear.  It's  just  what  you  experts 
can  never  understand." 

I  left  him,  after  arranging  that  he  should  go  on 
up  stream  and  that  I  would  fish  the  Legewater  and 
come  down  and  meet  him  at  one  o'clock  for  lunch. 

I  had  a  pleasant  morning,  and  my  bag  held  three 
good  trout  and  two  grayling.  What  more  does  a 
man  want?  I  had  returned  several  fish  to  the  water. 
For  each  I  landed  I  missed  another,  and  rose  two 
besides.  My  morning  had  been  one  of  keen  entranc- 
ing occupation,  both  of  mind  and  body,  with  the 
gaiety  of  a  careless  summer  holiday  to  set  it  off; 
tobacco  to  give  it  tone;  and  strong  boots  and  tough 
ofd  threadbare  tweeds  to  give  it  dignity.  I  have  no 
sympathy  with  a  man  who  vaunts  large  baskets. 
When  I  have  caught  a  score  of  trout  I  begin  to  feel 
like  a  fishmonger. 

I  filled  up  my  bag  with  stones  and  grass,  put  the 
fish  on  top  with  the  tail  of  one  grayling  and  the 
head  of  the  other  sticking  out,  so  as  to  give  Bat 
the  impression  that  I  had  a  bagful  topped  off  with 
a  three-pounder,  and  set  off  to  join  him  and  the 
lunch. 

I  could  not  find  him.  I  followed  the  river  till  the 
Watch  Cottage  was  near  at  hand — still  no  Bat.  I 
was  standing  at  a  loss  when  I  noticed  the  flash  of 
his  rod.  I  then  saw  that  he  was  reclining  on  the 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"       61 

bank,  his  head  supported  on  his  hand,  fishing  Ed- 
ward's pitch.  With  serene  contentment  in  his  face 
he  was  idly  throwing  his  line  into  the  water  and, 
after  a  rather  long  pause,  snatching  it  out  again. 
No  one  ever  rose  a  fish  by  such  methods. 

"Have  you  moved  him?"  I  asked  as  I  came  up, 
using  a  term  by  which  a  fly-fisher  expresses  that 
a  fish  has  nosed  at,  or  shown  an  interest  in  the  fly. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Bat  replied,  reeling  up  his  line,  "he's 
moving  about  all  right.  He's  getting  restless.  He'll 
jump  out  onto  the  bank  soon.  There  are  too  many 
hooks  about  today  for  his  liking." 

I  then  saw  that  Bat  was  fishing  with  four  flies 
tied  to  his  line.  It  was  futile.  No  one  ever  used 
anything  but  one  small  fly  on  such  water. 

He  told  me,  as  he  ate  his  sandwiches,  that  he 
had  been  fishing  the  same  spot  all  the  morning.  He 
lay  down  because  he  got  tired  of  sitting  up.  He  said 
that  at  different  times  two  fishermen  had  come  up 
to  see,  as  Bat  put  it,  "Whether  Edward  was  engaged 
or  not."  Bat  had  invited  the  second  to  join  him, 
telling  him  that  there  was  "plenty  of  room,"  but  he, 
too,  had  gone  off  like  the  first. 

I  left  Bat  in  the  act  of  tying  on  a  fifth  fly,  and 
made  a  cut  across  two  fields  to  the  upper  Legewater 
where  it  approaches  the  Fradford  road. 

It  was  about  half -past  four  when  I  heard  the  first 
shouts.  They  arrested  me  at  once,  but  I  did  not 
immediately  realize  they  were  cries  for  help.  I  ran 


62  THOMAS 

back  into  the  meadow  in  order  to  get  "the  direction, 
and  it  was  then  I  recognized  Bat's  voice  and  knew  he 
was  fast  into  Edward.  I  ran  like  a  hare. 

He  was  standing  on  the  bank,  with  his  legs  bare 
to  the  knee,  gripping  his  rod  like  an  infantryman 
with  bayonet  fixed  at  the  "ready."  The  woman  had 
come  out  of  the  cottage  and  was  by  his  side  holding 
her  skirts  with  one  hand.  A  motor-car  with  ladies 
in  it  had  stopped  on  the  bridge;  and  three  youths  in 
new  caps,  with  roses  in  their  buttonholes,  and  very 
long  walking  sticks,  were  charging  across  from  the 
road  with  a  dog. 

"Hold  your  rod  up,"  I  panted.  "Keep  your  line 
taut." 

"Leave  me  alone,"  said  Bat.  "He  can  use  all  the 
line  I've  got." 

It  seemed  quite  hopeless.  I  stood  by  with  the 
landing-net  and  looked  on. 

The  fish,  for  some  reason,  made  no  attempt  to 
run.  At  one  moment  he  was  a  catherine-wheel  on 
the  surface ;  the  next,  only  the  eddies  indicated  his 
struggles  in  the  deep.  After  a  time  these  struggles 
became  less  violent.  The  ladies  from  the  motor- 
car announced  their  presence  by  a  strong  smell  of 
peppermint. 

Minutes  passed,  and  it  began  to  look  as  though 
Bat  had  got  the  fish. 

"If  you  could  lead  him  in,  I  might  manage  to  net 
him,"  I  said. 

Edward  replied  by  a  strong  flurry,  and  was  th«n 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"      63 

3lowly  towed,  motionless  and  inert,  into  view.  He 
was  trussed  up  like  a  whiting,  head  to  tail,  with 
Bat's  line  tangled  about  him.  It  was  as  though 
he  had  been  spinning  a  cocoon. 

"There  you  are,"  Bat  said.  "I  told  you  he  could 
use  all  the  line  I  could  give  him." 

A  few  moments  later  I  was  able  to  get  the  net 
under  the  fish  and  lift  him  safely  to  the  bank.  The 
impossible  had  happened.  Bat  had  caught  Edward. 

"Be  careful  he  doesn't  jump  in  again,"  Bat  said 
warningly. 

At  that  moment  a  man  pressed  forward. 

"Hullo!    What's  this  here?"  he  asked. 

"This  is  Edward  here,"  said  Bat,  lighting  his  pipe 
as  I  set  about  getting  the  hooks  out. 

"You  must  put  him  back  again,  young  gentleman, 
he  ain't  caught  fair,"  said  the  man  ominously. 

"My  job  was  to  catch  Edward  with  the  artificial 
fly,"  said  Bat,  "and  scoop  the  pool,  and  I've  brought 
it  off." 

"I  keeps  this  water,  and  I  say  you  must  put  him 
back,"  the  man  reiterated.  "He's  foul  hooked." 

"Well,  that's  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  said  Bat. 
"You're  his  keeper,  you  say,  you  trained  the  fish, 
and  if  he  doesn't  know  better  than  to  take  the  fly 
under  his  wing  like  a  swallow,  it's  your  look-out." 

"He's  foul  hooked,  and  that  ain't  fair  fishing," 
the  keeper  said,  and  he  took  a  step  towards  me  as  I 
stooped  over  the  fish. 

"You  might  as  well  say  it  isn't  fair  cricket  if  you 


64  THOMAS 

try  for  a  drive  and  snick  it  through  the  slips,"  I  told 
him;  "of  course  it's  fair." 

"Why,  you  can  see  for  yourself  he's  taken  off  his 
stockings,"  the  keeper  complained.  "That's  another 
thing.  Wading  is  not  allowed;  it's  all  printed  clear 
on  the  back  of  the  ticket." 

"I  was  sitting  with  my  feet  in  the  water,"  Bat 
explained.  "It  sends  the  blood  to  the  head,  and  that's 
where  one  wants  it  when  one  tackles  a  job  like  this, 
I  can  tell  you." 

I  felt  ashamed  of  Bat.  Fishing  is  a  dignified  sport, 
and  it  is  strictly  so  regarded  by  all  true  fishermen. 
Bat,  however,  made  the  stupendous  event  of  his  cap- 
ture of  Edward  a  broad  absurdity.  To  my  adept  eye 
he  looked  almost  revolting  as  he  stood  on  the  bank 
with  naked  legs  in  his  elaborate  new  patent  sporting 
coat. 

We  overbore  the  keeper,  who  had  to  put  a  good 
face  on  it.  Edward  was  withdrawn  from  the  water, 
where  I  had  placed  him  securely  bagged  in  the  net, 
and  knocked  on  the  head,  and  we  went  to  the  cottage 
to  weigh  in.  The  scales  announced  six  pounds  seven 
and  a  quarter  ounces. 

When  we  came  out  the  throng  had  increased,  as 
people  passing  along  the  road  and  seeing  the  staring 
crowd  thought  someone  had  been  drowned,  and  came 
running  up  like  chickens  expecting  food.  We  marched 
into  Fradford  at  the  head  of  a  procession  of  a  dozen 
boys  and  men,  all  treading  on  each  other's  heels  in 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"      65 

their  eagerness  to  keep  an  eye  on  Edward,  who, 
slung  tail  and  head  like  a  salmon,  was  borne  by  Bat 
himself.  When  we  turned  into  the  Lamb  Hotel  we 
left  a  crowd  in  the  road  outside. 

Edward  was  laid  in  state  on  the  top  of  the  counter 
between  the  tap  and  the  bar  parlor.  We  gloated 
over  him  till  seven  o'clock,  and  then  tore  ourselves 
away  to  change  our  things,  and  came  back  and  stared 
at  him  till  dinner  was  served. 

We  had  hardly  finished  the  meal  when  the  land- 
lord entered  and  said  that  Mr.  Wrench  and  Mr. 
Plenty  were  very  anxious  to  speak  to  us.  Mr.  Wrench 
and  Mr.  Plenty  were  distinguished  local  anglers,  the 
landlord  explained. 

They  were  shown  in  and  sat  down  awkwardly,  and 
Bat  called  for  drinks. 

Mr.  Wrench  was  a  hardy,  stout,  red- faced,  intent- 
looking  man  with  grizzled  hair  and  a  bald  forehead. 
He  sat  on  the  extreme  edge  of  his  chair  with  an 
elbow  on  one  knee  and  leant  forward  dangling  his 
hat.  Mr.  Plenty  was  a  pale,  wedge-faced  young  man, 
with  a  long  thin  neck  and  straw-colored  hair  brushed 
up  into  a  quiff  on  his  forehead.  He  sat  stiffly,  as 
though  he  had  been  put  into  his  chair  and  was  waiting 
to  be  carried  upstairs  on  it. 

"I've  just  been  to  see  Edward,"  Mr.  Wrench  ad- 
dressed us  both  gravely,  jerking  his  head  towards 
the  bar,  "and  they  tell  me  it  was  one  of  you  two 
gentlemen  who  caught  him.  Mr.  Plenty  here  took 
the  fish  they  named  Archie,  four  seasons  ago,  five 


66  THOMAS 

pounds  two  ounces  and  three  shot,"  he  added,  intro- 
ducing his  companion.  Mr.  Plenty  cast  down  hit 
eyes  and  swallowed  audibly. 

I  indicated  Bat,  who  lay  at  full  length  on  the 
sofa  and  smoked  a  cigar,  as  the  hero  of  the  exploit, 
and  he  was  at  once  closely  questioned  by  Mr.  Wrench 
on  the  events  of  the  day.  Bat  replied  that  he  had 
really  very  little  of  interest  to  tell  them.  Yes ;  it  was 
he  that  had  caught  Edward.  No;  the  fish  did  not 
rise  often.  In  his  opinion  patience,  more  than  any- 
thing else,  was  what  had  won  the  day — patience  com- 
bined with  the  new  principles  of  piscatology. 

Here  Bat  paused  to  examine  his  cigar,  while  Mr. 
Plenty  regarded  him  fixedly  with  his  lip  drooping, 
and  Mr.  Wrench  shifted  further  forward  in  his  chair 
and  pressed  his  questions. 

What  were  these  new  principles?  Oh,  merely  to 
create  a  false  sense  of  security  in  the  fish,  Bat  told 
him.  How  was  it  done?  Why,  in  various  ways; 
for  instance,  one  sat  with  one's  legs  splashing  in  the 
water  as  though  one  were  going  to  bathe,  or  tied 
a  handkerchief  on  to  one's  rod  so  that  the  fish  would 
suppose  one  was  out  flag-flapping  with  the  boy  scouts. 
That  day  he  had  whistled  up  a  dog  and  pitched  him 
in  on  top  of  Edward,  and  made  him  swim  about  a  bit, 
and  bark.  As  a  result  Edward  had  been  completely 
deceived,  and  so  he  had  caught  him. 

No;  he  had  not  changed  his  flies  often.  One  fly 
had  certainly  caught  Edward  the  most,  but  others 
had  lent  a  hand.  What  fly  was  it?  Oh,  simply  a 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"       6f 

fly — feathers  and  tail;  they  knew  what  a  fly  was 
like. 

Mr.  Wrench  seemed  balked.  He  squatted  forward 
until  he  appeared  to  lose  contact  with  his  chair  alto- 
gether, as  if,  in  fact,  he  were  merely  pointing  to  it 
with  his  back. 

"What  I  mean,  what  sort  of  fly  was  it?*'  he  blurted. 
"What's  its  name,  as  you  may  say  ?" 

Bat  does  not  know  the  names  of  any  flies,  but 
prefers  to  invent  grotesque  nicknames  for  such  as 
he  can  recognize.  Most  of  these  are  extremely  insult- 
ing to  the  natural  insect  and  quite  inadmissible  in 
print.  He  stirred  a  little,  exhaled  smoke,  and  care- 
fully knocked  off  the  ash. 

"Blue  Wagtail,"  he  said  negligently,  as  he  put  th* 
cigar  back  in  his  mouth. 

"Blue  Wagtail!  I  never  heard  of  such,"  said  Mr. 
Wrench.  "Did  you  ever?"  he  added,  making  con- 
tact with  his  chair  again  and  turning  to  his  com- 
panion. 

Mr.  Plenty  shook  his  head,  and  both  men  stared 
mutely  at  Bat. 

"A  blue  Wagtail,"  said  Bat,  tolerantly,  "is  a  fly 
that  wags  its  tail  besides  being  blue.  That  is  what 
a  fish  likes — to  see  a  blue  fly  wag  its  tail.  The  wag- 
tail wagged  its  tail,  and  that  made  Edward  wag  his 
tail,  and  so  at  last  they  got  friendly  like  two  ducks, 
and  then  Edward  ate  him." 

Mr.  Wrench  gazed  at  Mr.  Plenty,  then  at  me,  and 
then  again  at  Bat,  in  a  baffled  way.  Then  he  said 


68  THOMAS 

suddenly   to   Bat,   who   was   looking  at  his   watch: 

"Where  do  you  get  these  Wagtail  flies,  if  I  may 
be  allowed  to  ask?" 

"I  make  them,"  Bat  replied,  after  a  moment's 
thought. 

"Oh;  could  you  show  me  one  now,  perhaps,  if 
it's  not  a  trouble  to  you?" 

"They're  all  eaten,"  said  Bat.  "Edward  had  the 
last." 

Mr.  Wrench  looked  perplexed,  but  seemed  to  re- 
member himself.  "Well  now,  how  would  you  go  for 
to  make  one  of  these  Wagtails;  could  you  tell  me, 
if  I  may  be  so  bold?"  he  said. 

"The  first  thing,"  said  Bat,  getting  up  and  empha- 
sizing his  points  by  tapping  Mr.  Wrench,  who  had 
also  risen,  on  the  chest  intimately,  "is  to  catch  a  nice 
young  blue  parrot  and  pull  its  tail  out.  Select  only 
the  tastiest  morsels  and  construct  the  fly  in  the  usual 
way,  being  careful  to  choose  a  good  sharp  hook.  I'm 
going  to  see  how  Edward  is  getting  on,"  he  con- 
cluded. "Are  you  coming?" 

I  was  afraid  that  Bat  was  about  to  embark  on 
absurdities  which  would  ruin  his  little  show,  for  it 
was  clear  that  it  would  be  as  easy  to  joke  with  a 
mole  and  a  frog  as  with  Messrs.  Wrench  and  Plenty 
on  the  sacred  subject  of  fly-fishing. 

If  these  two  gentlemen  formed  part  of  the  company 
which  that  evening  thronged  the  tap  and  the  bar 
parlor,  where  Bat  stood  guard,  so  to  speak,  over 
Edward,  they  had  further  drinks  without  paying  for 


BAT  VERNON'S  "BLUE  WAGTAIL"       69 

them,  and  perhaps  got  to  know  that  they  had 
had  their  legs  pulled.  I  do  not  think  that  Bat  Vernon 
ever  spent  a  happier  evening  in  his  life.  An  earnest 
fisherman,  who  felt  that  in  the  capture  of  Edward 
he  had  attained  the  highest  ambition  of  his  art,  would 
have  been  a  person  to  commiserate  in  the  light  of  the 
radiant  felicity  of  Bat.  It  was  the  very  knowledge 
of  his  own  ignorance  and  futility  as  a  fly-fisher  that 
provoked  his  impish  humor  and  made  his  false  posi- 
tion an  exquisite  delight  to  him.  If  anything  could 
have  added  to  his  pleasure  it  would  have  been  to- 
know  that  he  had  caught  Edward  with  a  feather  and 
a  bit  of  string,  or  a  lady's  hat  on  the  end  of  a  clothes- 
line. 

His  listeners  were  a  mixed  company  and,  as  Bat 
stood  beside  Edward  inviting  inquiry,  his  whimsies 
were  at  first  received  with  serious  perplexity.  But 
after  a  little  bursts  of  laughter  marked  his  intimate 
speculations  on  Edward's  connubial  ambitions,  and  he 
was  surrounded  by  a  broadly  smiling  audience. 

After  leaving  him  for  an  hour,  I  drew  near  again, 

"Come  along  to  bed,"  I  said.  "You've  got  to  have 
breakfast  at  seven  if  you  are  going  to  catch  the  early 
train." 

We  saw  Edward  safely  into  the  larder,  where  Bat 
had  him  put  into  a  tub  of  water.  "I  want  him  to 
feel  quite  at  home,"  he  told  the  Boots.  I  left  him  in 
close  talk  with  the  landlord. 

Just  as  I  was  ready  for  bed,  he  came  into  my 
room. 


70  THOMAS 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said,  "I'm  not  too  late.  I 
always  like  to  keep  my  promises.  Now  do  attend; 
you  remember  that  time,  don't  you ;  you  know ;  no, 
really,  honor  bright,  this  is  serious — when  we  were 
talking  last  night,  I  mean?  Well,  look  here,  I  was 
afraid  I  was  too  late,  the  fellow  kept  me  down- 
stairs, but  I  promised — you  remember — that  I  would 
tell  you  exactly  what  Edward  weighed  before  you  got 
into  bed  to-night.  Well,  I'm  going  to  do  it  now.  Do 
listen.  He  weighs  exactly  eleven  pounds  and  seven 
and  a  quarter  ounces  when  wet,  and  a  trifle  less  when 
<lry.  Can  you  recollect  that,  or  would  you  like  me 
to  write  it  down  for  you?  Next  week,  of  course,  it's 
quite  likely  he  may  weigh  a  pound  or  two  more." 

I   was  just  dropping  off  to  sleep  when  he  cam« 
back  in  his  pajamas. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "I've  got  a  bone  to  pick  with 
you." 

"What's  wrong?" 

"Why,  about  that  fish." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  I've  made  a  big  mistake  about  Edward,  and 
it's  your  fault,  I  tell  you." 

"What  have  I  done?" 

"What  have  you  done!    Why,  you've  killed  Ed- 
ward; that's  what." 

"But,  good  gracious,"  I  said,   "you  couldn't  keep 
him  alive." 

"Of  course  I  could,"  Bat  replied.     "Tub  of  water 
and  a  wheelbarrow." 


TRAGIC  EXPERIENCES  71 

"But  why?    What's  your  idea?" 

"Well,  it's  no  fun  catching  a  dead  fish,  is  it? 
Edward's  been  wasted,  that's  how  I  look  at  it.  He's 
done  for,  and  no  good  for  anything  but  to  be  stretched 
and  stuffed — he  will  stretch  well,  I  can  see  there's 
loose  skin  about  him  ' 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  wanted  to  go  on  catch- 
ing him  ?" 

"Of  course  I  did.  I  should  have  taken  him  home 
and  put  him  in  the  fountain  with  the  goldfish,  and 
now  you've  killed  him.  He  would  have  had  lots  of 
sport.  I  might  have  caught  him  before  breakfast 
on  fine  mornings,  and  my  old  uncle  could  have  been 
wheeled  in  to  have  a  go  at  him.  We  would  have 
kept  rods  set  up  in  the  hall  and  gone  and  put  hooks 
in  him  after  dinner — no  end  of  fun  with  the  ladies; 
and  now  you've  spoilt  it  all." 


CHAPTER  V 

TRAGIC    EXPERIECES    AT    CAFF    PADDOX 

ON  the  Monday  morning,  after  I  had  taken  Bat 
to  the  station  and  was  just  finishing  breakfast, 
a  telegram  arrived  from  my  mother:  "Mrs.  Graham 
wants  you  to  let  her  know  beforehand." 

I  suppose  my  mother  wrote  to  Mrs.  Graham  and 
fished  for  an  invitation.  She  had  my  address,  as  I 
sent  her  a  post  card  on  Saturday  night. 

It  is  a  nuisance  to  have  arrangements  made  for 
me  and  to  be  under  obligations  to  keep  engagements. 
It  is  exactly  what  I  do  not  want,  but  my  mother  con- 
siders that  my  plans  for  turning  up  uninvited  are  an 
unheard-of  breach  of  good  manners. 

However,  I  decided  to  go  on  to  Hildon  Hall,  as 
it  was  a  pleasant  run  of  about  130  miles,  and  I  should 
liave  some  justification  for  presenting  myself.  After 
the  way  I  funked  The  Benson  I  was  beginning  to 
lose  faith  in  my  hardihood. 

Before  I  left  Fradford  I  bought  the  bottle  of  olives 
for  Nita.  I  thought  I  might  as  well  send  them.  There 
is  nothing,  of  course,  m  a  bottle  of  stuffed  olives! 

72 


TRAGIC  EXPERIENCES  73 

Afterwards  I  felt  uncertain,  and  I  went  back  to  the 
grocer's  without  knowing  exactly  what  to  do.  The 
fact  is  women  are  rather  a  nuisance  to  have  about 
one,  and  they  really  can  be  almost  unpleasant  some- 
times: at  least  Nita  can.  It  is  impertinent  to  tell  a 
man,  just  because  you  happen  to  be  his  step-niece 
by  marriage,  that  he  is  selfish,  and  greedy,  and 
arrogant,  and  lord  knows  what  else.  Not  that  I  care 
what  Nita  says,  of  course ;  besides,  she  was  joking  all 
the  time,  I  know  that.  Still,  it  is  unpleasant.  I 
found  the  grocer  had  made  up  the  parcel  for  posting, 
so  I  let  it  go.  It  was  a  small  bottle,  only.  After- 
wards I  went  back  again  and  wrote  on  the  cover, 
"To  be  kept  in  a  cool  dry  place  till  I  return."  All 
the  same,  I  wish  I  had  not  sent  it  now.  Nita  will 
suppose  I  mind  what  she  thinks  of  me. 

Susan  did  not  behave  that  day  and  I  had  trouble 
with  the  bent  threepenny  bit  that  serves  the  valve 
tappit.  After  that  I  took  the  wrong  road,  and  finally 
I  decided  to  stay  a  day  or  two  with  Mrs.  Connagh  if 
the  old  girl  should  be  game.  This  was  the  beginning 
of  much  trouble. 

I  consider  that  my  claim  to  be  a  careful  driver  is 
made  incontestable  by  the  fact  that  in  twenty  thou- 
sand miles  I  have  killed  nothing  but  one  chicken,  and 
it  was  the  chicken's  fault.  But  I  don't  want  to  beat 
about  the  bush.  If  the  reader  refers  to  the  list  of 
my  final  selections  on  page  16  he  will  see  that  Mrs. 
Connagh's  description  is  completed  by  the  words  "and 
dogs."  Well,  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  (and  it 


74  THOMAS 

was  a  miserable  business),  the  fact  is  that  as  we  were 
trundling  up  the  drive  Susan  ran  over  one  of  these 
dogs.  A  small  pack  of  cream  poodles  and  chocolate 
Poms  ran  out  of  the  shrubbery  right  into  the  car;  I 
felt  a  wheel  lift  and  there  was  the  poor  little  brute 
laid  out  in  the  road  behind.  Mercifully  it  was  killed 
outright.  The  notice,  "Mind  the  Dogs,"  which  I  had 
seen  at  the  entrance  gates,  had  evidently  been  set 
up  out  of  concern  for  the  dogs,  rather  than,  as  I  had 
supposed,  in  apprehension  for  the  visitors'  trousers. 

To  run  over  the  dog  is  quite  one  of  the  worst 
ways  of  introducing  yourself  uninvited  at  a  friend's 
house.  I  felt  this  keenly  as  I  stared  back  at  the 
blot  of  brown  fur  on  the  road.  It  was  just  as  if  a 
lady  had  dropped  her  muff.  It  was  some  moments 
before  I  got  out  of  the  car,  and  even  then  I  did  not 
know  what  I  was  going  to  do.  I  felt  stunned. 

I  do  not  say  for  a  moment  that  I  did  the  right 
thing.  I  only  claim  to  have  acted  with  the  best 
intentions. 

It  was  at  once  clear  that  I  could  not  turn  the 
car  round  and  go  away  and  say  nothing  about  it. 
That  was  unthinkable.  Nor  could  I  bring  myself 
to  approach  the  house,  a  hopeful  candidate  for  the 
spare  bed,  dangling  my  hostess'  pet  as  though  I  had 
come  with  an  offering  of  game.  Nor  could  I  endure 
the  idea  of  waiting  in  the  drawing-room  with  "I  want 
you  to  come  and  see  what  I've  got  in  my  car"  tremb- 
ling on  my  lips.  Besides,  if  I  were  not  careful,  Mrs. 
Connagh  might  receive  a  shock.  It  was  a  difficult 


TRAGIC  EXPERIENCES  75 

question.  In  the  end  I  decided  to  hide  the  little 
body  in  the  shrubbery ;  find  the  first  convenient  oppor- 
tunity of  breaking  the  news  to  my  hostess ;  and  then, 
if  she  wished,  show  her  the  sad  little  remnant  of  her 
pet.  Accordingly  I  carried  the  poor  little  lady  into 
the  plantation  and  hid  her  among  the  undergrowth. 

It  was  when  I  approached  the  front  door  and  a 
deluge  of  dogs  rushed  upon  the  scene  from  all  direc- 
tions, that  it  occurred  to  me  that  one  or  two,  more 
or  less,  might  not  be  of  much  account.  I  also  won- 
dered if  the  creature  would  actually  be  missed — if  I 
had  not  decided,  of  course,  to  break  the  news,  I 
mean. 

I  had  always  remembered  that  while  Mrs.  Con- 
nagh  honored  you  with  a  call,  her  dogs  employed 
themselves  by  scratching  the  paint  off  your  front 
door  or  making  hay  of  the  geraniums;  but  I  had 
no  idea  of  the  hold  her  hobby  had  taken  on  her  until 
this  visit  of  mine  to  Caff  Paddox.  I  can  only  say 
that  the  house  has  been  entirely  given  up  to  the  dogs 
and  that  Mrs.  Connagh  resides  in  their  kennel.  The 
gardens  are  spoiled;  the  house  is  dingy.  It  is  bitten, 
scratched,  stained  and  torn  from  top  to  bottom. 

I  was  shown  into  what  the  dogs  had  left  of  the 
drawing-room.  One  of  the  chocolate  Poms  with  a 
bandaged  leg  was  taking  care  of  itself  on  the  sofa. 
The  furniture  was  scratched  and  dirty;  the  carpet 
spoilt;  the  hearthrug  in  part  eaten.  The  hopeless- 
ness of  keeping  pace  with  the  destructiveness  of  the 
dogs  seemed  to  have  had  a  disheartening  effect  on 


76  THOMAS 

things  that  were  out  of  their  reach.  Cobwebs  hung 
on  the  curtain-poles,  and  dusty  bits  of  evergreen,  pre- 
sumably the  remains  of  Christmas  decorations,  still 
lolled  over  the  picture-frames.  Upon  the  mantel- 
piece was  a  row  of  silver  cups  each  inscribed  with  a 
date  and  the  name  of  the  dog  whose  ability  in  being 
a  dog  had  won  the  distinction  for  its  owner. 

Mrs.  Connagh  walked  briskly  into  the*  room,  a 
little  riding-switch  in  her  hand  and  a  swarm  of  dandy 
dogs  about  her  heels,  with  an  air  as  though  she  were 
entering  a  public  arena  to  give  a  display.  It  was 
obvious  that  she  liked  to  vaunt  her  pets  and  that  she 
glowed  with  the  distinction  of  the  number  and  quality 
of  those  about  her.  She  was  dressed  in  stylish  tweeds 
which  she  showed  off  well,  for  she  is  slick  in  the 
haunch  and  carries  her  head  like  a  racer.  She  wore 
smart  boots  and  gauntleted  gloves  on  remarkably  neat 
hands,  and  her  gray  hair  was  swept  up  under  a  tweed 
hat.  A  large  brass  safety-pin,  under  her  ear,  called 
attention,  oddly,  to  a  flannel  bandage  about  her  neck 
which  had  worked  up  into  view. 

She  greeted  me  warmly;  said  that  of  course  I 
would  stay;  and  ran  on  with  questions  about  my 
mother  and  my  journey.  As  she  talked,  her  eyes 
kept  wandering  about  among  the  dogs,  of  whom  she 
soon  began  to  speak,  sitting  with  one  of  them  on 
her  knees  which  repeatedly  licked  her  face  in  spite 
of  her  half-hearted  gestures  of  avoidance. 

Many  celebrities  were  pointed  out  to  me.  The  Pom 
with  the  bandaged  foot  was  specially  introduced  as 


TRAGIC  EXPERIENCES  77 

having  had  its  leg  broken  by  a  brutal  motorist  in  the 
front  drive.  There  was  no  excuse,  she  declared,  with 
the  notice  staring  everyone  in  the  face. 

As  she  rattled  on  an  old  bulldog  staggered  into 
the  room  with  his  legs  wide  apart,  as  though  he  felt 
the  spin  of  the  earth  and  was  afraid  of  being  thrown 
down.  He  came  to  me ;  sniffed  in  friendly  inquiry ; 
then  chirruped  with  suppressed  delight;  wagged  his 
tail ;  put  his  head  sentimentally  on  my  knee  .and  slob- 
bered on  me.  Mrs.  Connagh,  without  pausing  in  her 
account  of  Ribstone  the  fifth,  got  up;  went  to  a 
drawer;  handed  me  a  red  calico  duster;  and  when 
I  had  mopped  my  trouser,  put  it  away  again.  In  its 
way,  it  was  evidently  a  well-ordered  house.  The 
second  time  the  bulldog  stamped  me  with  the  mark 
of  his  esteem  Mrs.  Connagh  explained  that  he  al- 
ways did  it  as  tea-time  approached.  So  that  was 
all  right. 

It  was  after  tea,  when  the  other  dogs  had  been 
driven  out  of  the  room  and  the  bulldog  had  cleared 
up  all  the  bread  and  butter  and  finished  the  tea  out 
of  the  slop-basin,  that  Mrs.  Connagh  asked  me  sud- 
denly, as  though  opening  up  a  fresh  subject,  whether 
I  would  like  to  "see  the  dogs."  I  had  been  quite 
unable  to  come  to  the  point  of  confession.  No  open- 
ing was  allowed  me.  I  had  to  go  and  inspect  the 
animals,  knowing  that  every  minute  made  my  task 
more  difficult.  I  began  at  last  to  try  and  think  that 
I  had  not  killed  any  dog  at  all.  It  seemed  impossible 
I  could  have  such  a  crime  on  my  shoulders. 


78  THOMAS 

We  went  over  the  house.  The  dogs  were  kennelled 
in  the  rooms ;  six,  eight,  or  a  dozen  in  each.  In  some 
rooms  they  used  the  beds;  in  one,  hutches  had  been 
set  up.  They  were  delicate  dogs,  Mrs.  Connagh  ex- 
plained, and,  besides,  they  had  to  be  trained  as  house 
pets.  A  bathroom  had  been  adapted  to  the  purpose 
of  a  dogs'  toilet,  and  here  a  burly  woman  was  squat- 
ting on  the  floor  gloomily  cliping  a  poodle.  The  dogs 
were  tended  by  women.  They  were  ladies'  dogs. 
They  did  not  "understand  men."  The  attic  floor  was 
given  up  to  the  purposes  of  an  infectious  disease  hos- 
pital. A  door  was  opened.  Six  dogs  tried  to  get 
out.  What  sort  were  they?  "Mange."  Another 
door,  "Distemper."  Another  "Influenza."  It  was  all 
so  well  arranged!  There  was  a  room  set  entirely 
apart  for  one  dog  who  was  doing  his  course  of  in- 
fluenza and  mange  at  the  same  time.  Yet  another 
door  and  the  dogs  all  had  flannel  bandages  round 
their  necks,  fastened  under  the  ear  with  a  big  safety- 
pin.  Complaint  unknown.  Difficulty  in  swallowing. 
Mrs.  Connagh  here  appeared  to  swallow,  and  with 
difficulty.  I  myself  seemed  to  be  conscious  of  a 
retarded  mechanism  in  my  own  throat  when  I  se- 
cretly tested  it.  My  wish  that  I  had  never  come 
increased. 

Dinner  had  all  the  discomfort  of  a  meal  taken 
immediately  before  departure  on  a  journey.  There 
seemed  somehow  to  be  a  dozen  things  to  be  thought 
of  at  once.  Mrs.  Connagh  kept  looking  at  her  watch. 
She  was  expecting  the  vet.,  she  said.  I  tried  to 


TRAGIC  EXPERIENCES  79 

interest  her  with  an  account  of  the  exploits  of  my 
bulldog  pup  "Bruiser."  Bruiser  was  given  to  me  be- 
cause he  needed  a  change  of  postmen.  He  had  bitten 
one.  I  knew  nothing  about  his  points,  but  I  sent  him 
to  our  local  Dog  and  Cat  Show,  and  put  him  in  for 
everything  just  to  see  what  he  could  do  for  himself. 
To  my  delight  he  carried  off  three  first  prizes — value, 
one  pound  seventeen — and  seemed  to  think  nothing 
of  it.  He  won  first  prize  for  being  the  best  Bulldog 
in  the  show;  first  prize  for  being  the  best  Gray- 
hound  in  the  show ;  and  first  prize  for  being  the 
best  tom-cat  in  the  show.  Mrs.  Connagh  could  not 
follow  this,  so  I  had  to  explain  that  Bruiser  got 
first  prize  in  the  bulldog  class ;  first  prize  in  the  class 
reserved  for  bulldogs  and  grayhounds,  and  his  final 
rival  was  a  grayhound;  and  first  prize  for  being  the 
best  animal  exhibited,  and  as  the  final  selection  lay 
between  Bruiser  and  two  tom-cats,  it  follows  that 
Bruiser  was  considered  to  be  a  better  tom-cat  than 
either  of  the  cats  were  bull-dogs. 

My  hostess  did  not  seem  much  interested  in  the 
triumphs  of  Bruiser,  and  the  dessert  had  hardly  been 
put  on  the  table  when  the  vet.  arrived  and  she  jumped 
up  and  whisked  out  of  the  room,  leaving  me  alone. 

I  had  begun  to  be  haunted  by  a  fear  that  some 
of  the  dogs  would  discover  the  victim  and  drag  the 
carcase  into  view  before  I  had  had  a  chance  of 
confessing,  and  I  crept  out  of  the  house  like  a  mur- 
derer fascinated  by  the  scene  of  his  crime.  I 
breathed  more  freely,  for  it  was  clear  that  the  dogs 


80  THOMAS 

had  all  been  shut  up  for  the  night.  None  was  to  be 
seen  but  the  bulldog  and  one  or  two  pets,  and  the 
house  echoed  far  and  near  with  their  yappings  be- 
hind closed  doors.  Poncho  came  staggering  after 
me  down  the  drive,  but  soon  stood  and  watched  me 
out  of  sight.  The  old  dog  was  reconciled  to  the 
limitations  of  age. 

It  was  getting  dark  when  I  reached  the  scene  of 
the  accident  and  turned  into  the  plantation,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  I  found  the  place  where  I 
had  hidden  the  body.  My  little  friend  was  gone. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  Had  I  really  killed 
her?  I  began  to  think  it  was  possible  I  had  only 
laid  her  out  and  that  she  had  recovered  and  run  off 
to  rejoin  her  companions.  The  dogs  would  certainly 
be  counted  when  they  were  shut  up  for  the  night; 
and  I  should  hear  about  it  if  one  were  missed,  for 
I  heard  about  it  if  one  sneezed.  I  had  a  possible 
excuse,  anyhow.  I  was  not  absolutely  certain  she 
had  been  killed. 

When  I  returned,  Mrs.  Connagh  was  seeing  the 
vet.  out.  The  house  was  now  silent  as  regards  the 
dogs,  but  the  three  parrots,  who,  not  being  able  to 
hear  themselves  speak,  endured  the  daytime  in  sulky 
silence,  had  now  brightened  up  and  were  all  yapping 
and  howling  without  pause,  and  thus  it  is  that 
things  are  kept  cheerful  at  Caff  Paddox  both  day 
and  night. 

Mrs.  Connagh  mentioned  nothing  about  having  lost 
a  dog.  She  rattled  along  with  accounts  of  all  the 


TRAGIC  EXPERIENCES  81 

vet.  had  said  of  her  various  invalids,  and  we  finished 
the  evening  with  a  game  of  chess  in  which  I  was 
beaten  by  my  hostess,  two  parrots,  and  a  dog  whom 
I  was  asked  not  to  "encourage." 

It  was  only  ten  o'clock  when  I  said  good  night. 
My  room  seemed  to  have  been  kept  holy.  The  bed, 
on  examination,  appeared  to  be  a  virgin  bed;  but 
I  had  grounds  for  revising  that  judgment  ten  minutes 
after  I  got  into  it.  This  was  not  the  only  reason  I 
could  not  sleep,  however.  I  worried  over  the  dog. 
I  came  to  believe  that  my  search  in  the  plantation  had 
not  been  thorough.  Then,  being  turned  upon  gloomy 
thoughts,  I  was  reminded  of  Bat's  solemn  admission, 
and  began  to  ponder  his  remarks  about  getting  too 
old  for  the  job — i.e.  marriage.  I  counted  up  how 
many  years  it  would  take  before  I  was  seventy- three, 
which  always  appears  to  me  a  most  difficult  age  to 
face.  There  seemed  very  few  of  them  when  one 
came  to  think  of  it.  Until  one  is  seventy-three  there 
is  some  hope  for  one;  after  that  point  there  is  none 
— one  has  simply  got  to  throw  up  the  sponge.  I 
counted  how  many  times  I  should  live  over  again  the 
number  of  years  since  I  left  school  before  I  reached 
this  dreadful  age.  The  figure  was  eight  only.  I  had 
never  realized  this  before.  This  was  serious.  The 
matter  needed  close  attention. 

After  a  while  I  settled  down  to  test  myself  against 
Williams.  I  know  his  age,  for  he  told  us  in  the 
train  one  morning,  and  he  told  the  ticket  collector 
too.  For  some  reason  he  seemed  to  be  immensely 


82  THOMAS 

gratified  by  the  fact  that  his  age  was  what  it  was. 
Well,  I  had  to  face  the  fact  that  in  seventeen  years  I 
shall  be  as  old  as  Williams  is.  It  was  appalling.  But 
there  was  worse  to  come.  In  barely  seven  years  I 
should  be  as  old  as  Williams  was  only  ten  years  ago ! 
I  could  hardly  realize  it.  I  did  the  sum  again.  It 
was  awful.  What  was  seven  years?  I  was  aghast. 
I  had  been  actually  living  in  a  fool's  paradise.  I  tried 
it  in  many  ways,  but  all  comparisons  brought  me  face 
to  face  with  such  deadly  facts  as:  that  by  the  time  I 
am  as  old  as  Williams  will  be,  when  I  am  as  old  as 
he  is  now,  Williams  will  be  on  the  very  verge  of 
seventy-three. 

I  felt  frightened.  It  was  no  good  trying  to  dis- 
guise the  fact:  I  was  beginning  to  get  old.  That 
was  the  idea  I  had  to  get  used  to.  Old  age.  Per- 
haps after  all  there  was  some  sense  in  the  grave 
view  Tabb  seemed  to  take  of  life.  I  had  brought 
his  book  with  me  as  part  of  Susan's  ballast,  and  I 
got  out  of  bed  and  found  it.  I  took  the  opportunity 
as  I  passed  the  dressing-table  to  have  a  close  look 
at  my  ears  in  the  glass.  They  were  still  all  right, 
thank  goodness. 

I  opened  Tabb  at  random,  and  dabbed  a  finger 
on  to  a  page  to  try  my  luck.  All  divines  should 
be  equal  to  this  test  if  they  are  worth  their  salt, 
but  it  seems  that  Tabb  is  not  on  working  terms  with 
Providence.  When  I  looked  I  found  I  had  fetched  a 
paragraph  where  Tabb  endeavors  to  disentangle,  from 
the  confusion  caused  by  the  sublimity  of  his  own  die- 


TRAGIC  EXPERIENCES  83 

tion,  the  childish  idea  that  to  bestow  benefits  on  others 
is  to  win  their  affection.  No  generalization  could 
well  be  less  true  of  human  nature.  It  must,  how- 
ever, be  admitted,  in  justice  to  Tabb,  that  on  this 
occasion,  at  any  rate,  he  did  the  trick;  for  what 
with  the  numbers  of  us  there  were  kicking  about 
together  in  the  bed,  and  our  general  restlessness,  and 
Tabb's  pompous  diction  and  smug  incompetence,  I 
was  made  so  angry  that  I  did  not  care  whether  I  was 
getting  old  or  not,  and  so  went  to  sleep  at  last. 

I  was  awakened  in  the  morning  by  the  voice  of 
my  hostess  resounding  in  the  room  through  the  open 
window,  "Drop  it,  sir!"  "Drop  it,  I  say!"  followed 
by  deafening  yaps  and  barks,  and  became  aware  that 
the  dog  I  had  been  told  not  to  "encourage"  was  in 
the  room.  He  had  evidently  come  in  with  the  hot 
water.  I  drove  him  out. 

In  the  bath-room,  which  passed  muster,  I  got  hold 
of  a  bit  of  soap  that  smelt  gratefully  aseptic.  I 
soon  noticed  that  it  was  of  a  bracing  quality,  and 
at  first  I  was  thankful  for  the  pacifying  effect  it 
had  on  a  rash  I  had  contracted  during  the  night,  but 
soon  I  found  that  it  was  too  drastic,  so  to  speak, 
and  was  taking  my  enamel  off;  and  on  inspection  I 
discovered  that  the  detestable  word  "DOG"  still  sur- 
vived in  embossed  letters  on  its  wasted  shape.  I  rinsed 
myself  thoroughly,  but  I  shall  never  be  the  sleek 
man  I  was.  It  has  taken  away  all  my  gloss.  My 
velvet  touch  has  gone.  I  am  for  ever  spoilt  for  pur- 
poses of  satin  embraces. 


84  THOMAS 

I  was  horribly  worried  about  the  dog.  I  had  no 
doubt  that  I  missed  him  the  night  before.  I  felt 
ashamed  of  myself.  It  seemed  a  very  easy  thing  to 
confess  to  the  accident,  compared  with  the  explana- 
tion I  now  had  to  make.  The  wretched  animal  was 
positively  spoiling  my  holiday.  I  cut  myself  in 
shaving.  Finally  I  decided,  in  a  sort  of  anger,  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it  at  breakfast  and  get  it 
over.  I  was,  however,  still  desperately  racking  my 
brains  to  find  a  loophole  for  escape  as  I  went  heavy- 
footed  downstairs. 

Then,  three  steps  from  the  bottom,  I  clapped  my 
fist  into  my  palm  and  exclaimed,  "By  jove,  I've  got 
it!"  with  such  effect  that  some  thirty  dogs  came 
rushing  at  me,  and  Mrs.  Connagh  ran  out  to  pacify 
them.  I  beamed  as  I  returned  her  greeting  and  fol- 
lowed her  to  the  breakfast-room. 

Mrs.  Connagh  appeared  a  little  subdued.  She  only 
became  her  usual  alert  self  for  a  moment  when  I 
returned  from  the  side-table  after  cutting  myself 
three  slices  of  tongue.  I  had  helped  myself  to  mus- 
tard and  had  got  hold  of  my  fork,  when  she  jumped 
up  and  took  the  plate  away  from  me. 

"Not  that  one.  It's  Poncho's  "  she  said.  Then 
she  added,  as  though  to  remove  any  embarrassment 
I  might  feel  at  having  committed  a  faux  pas  of  the 
break  fast- table,  "He  licks  it  so  clean,  you  would 
never  know  he  had  used  it." 

A  little  later  she  broke  a  silence  of  the  dogs  by 
saying ; 


HILDON  HALL  85 

"I'm  one  short  this  morning." 

"Indeed,"  I  said.     "How's  that?" 

Mrs.  Connagh  shrugged.  "They  must  have  missed 
count  last  night.  So  careless !  It's  one  of  the  Poms." 

"Don't  you  know  which?" 

"I  have  not  sorted  them  out  yet.  The  names  are 
on  the  collars.  There  are  so  many  it  is  difficult  to 
remember  them  all,  but  I  think  it  must  be  either 
Binch,  Virtue,  or  Max  the  Third,  or  perhaps  Riff  or 
Bramble — it  wont  take  long  to  find  out." 

"I  like  those  little  chocolate  Poms,"  I  said.  "I 
wish  you  could  let  me  have  one." 

Mrs.  Connagh  became  interested  at  once.  I  closed 
the  deal  for  a  bitch  rising  two  years,  and  I  was  to 
have  the  pick  of  eight.  My  choice  fell  on  Casca  the 
Second. 

Gaily  I  waved  farewell  to  my  hostess  as,  an  hour 
later,  she  ran  round  Susan,  shepherding  a  cloud  of 
her  pets  from  the  wheels ;  and  gaily  we  bowled  down 
the  drive  with  half  a  dozen  truants  running  behind 
and  yapping  at  Casca,  who,  with  her  pretty  little 
ears  cocked,  looked  wistfully  over  the  door  from 
among  the  golf-sticks  and  fishing-rods. 

At  a  certain  point  I  cautiously  slowed  down ; 
stopped ;  and  then  slipped  away  through  the  shrub- 
bery. In  the  plantation  the  dogs  soon  led  me  to  find 
what  I  had  overlooked  the  night  before.  It  was 
"Viccy."  I  took  off  the  collar;  carried  the  small 
rumpled  body  to  the  car ;  packed  it  away  on  the  floor ; 
put  the  collar  on  Casca  and  Casca's  in  my  pocket,  and 


86  THOMAS 

set  her  down  to  run  with  her  little  relatives.  Then 
once  more,  with  a  light  heart,  I  gave  Susan  the 
gears,  burst  out  upon  the  sunny  highway  and  laid 
a  course  for  Hildon  Hall. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HILDON    HALL 

I  HAVE  been  at  Hildon  more  than  a  week  and 
it  is  quite  all  right — though  I  never  thought  I 
could  have  made  it  out  with  a  pack  of  girls  for  such 
a  long  time — but  the  hour  is  coming  when  I  must 
say  "good-bye"  and  give  the  Grahams  a  rest.  The 
fact  is  that  little  Nibbs  is  getting  badly  on  my  nerves, 
though  not — I  am  thankful  to  say — on  those  particu- 
lar nerves  to  which  she  applies  herself  so  untiringly. 
If  it  were  not  that  she  is  a  young  lady  I  should  de- 
scribe little  Nibbs  as  a  public  nuisance. 

To  begin  with,  I  don't  like  very  little  girls  with 
watery  voices  who  remind  you  of  the  small  apple 
that  the  shopman  throws  into  the  bag  as  a  gift; 
neither  do  I  admire  impossibly  tiny  feet  squeezed 
into  kid-topped  boots,  and  little  Chinese  hands  with 
rings  on  half  the  fingers  and  gold  bangles  slipping 
down  over  the  knuckles.  Also  I  have  lately  found 
out,  from  being  talked  at  by  Nibbs,  that  I  don't  like 
the  writings  of  John  Ruskin ;  and  hate  miniatures ; 
and  detest  old  china;  and  that  the  older  the  china  is 


88  THOMAS 

the  more  I  loathe  it.  To  me  sculpture  is  a  bore,  and 
I  don't  know  why  they  do  it;  and  /  say — although  I 
don't  set  up  to  be  an  authority — that  all  the  old 
masters  were  cock-eyed.  I  said  it  to  Nibbs,  and 
she  tried  to  find  the  word  in  the  calf-bound  diction- 
ary which  has  been  requisitioned  to  make  little  Nibbs 
high  enough  on  the  seat  of  the  morning  room  piano 
to  play  Grieg's  Wedding  March  six  times  a  day  with- 
out fatigue.  I  admit  that  it  is  the  sort  of  wedding 
march  that  anyone  might  wish  for  who  was  being 
married  to  little  Nibbs,  but  if  it  is  played  as  a  hint 
to  me  it  quite  misses  its  point.  Sorry,  Nibbs — but 
it  does!  In  fact  it  expresses  her  in  such  a  deadly 
way  that  I  cannot  now  sit  in  the  room  while  a  wed- 
ding march  session  is  in  progress.  This,  indeed,  is 
a  house  where  every  prospect  pleases  and  only  Nibbs 
is  vile.  That  prospect  comprises  Mrs.  Graham,  and 
Maud,  Valerie  and  Rachel  Graham,  besides  Miss 
Wyndacotte  (Beatrice)  from  Magnolia  Lodge,  the 
Druce  girls,  and  others.  I  never  used  to  care  much 
for  Rachel  as  a  name.  It  always  suggested  a  girl  who 
made  everyone  uncomfortable  in  her  indulgence  of  a 
weakness  for  self-sacrifice.  I  find  I  was  wrong. 
Rachel  is  a  very  pretty  name. 

I  flushed  Hildon  Hall  at  the  propitious  hour  of 
one  o'clock.  It  is  a  large  four-square,  stuccoed  house, 
with  a  Doric  portico;  stands  in  a  fine  park;  and  is 
surrounded  on  three  sides  by  fine  gardens  of  the 
"landscape"  type.  There  are  wonderful  lawns  dotted 
with  noble  beeches,  and  dense  rhododendron  shrub- 


HILDON  HALL  89 

beries  that   partly   screen   from   view   a  large   pool. 

Graham  married  late  but  was  consoled  by  a  young 
wife,  and  Mrs.  Graham  has  spent  almost  all  her  life 
in  the  character  of  a  widow  with  three  daughters 
who  have  grown  up  in  this  luxurious  home  .like 
three  princesses  in  a  castle.  Rachel,  the  youngest, 
has  only  thrown  off  the  fetters  of  the  schoolroom 
for  a  few  months.  Maud  and  Valerie  are  some  years 
older. 

Mrs.  Graham  is  an  elastic  matron  of — well,  say 
forty  odd,  with  marks  of  arrested  growth  that  date, 
no  doubt,  from  the  day  of  her  widowhood.  Her 
sentiments  were  formed  under  the  influence  of  the 
sepulchral  era  which  followed  the  death  of  the  Prince 
Consort.  She  actually  wears  a  long  chain  made  of 
human  hair  linked  with  gold,  and  a  locket  that  has  a 
glass  back  and  yet  more  hair,  and  she  wears  two 
mourning  rings  with  a  small  further  addition  of  hair 
in  each.  She  has,  however,  been  dragged  along  at  the 
tail  of  her  daughters,  who,  with  every  disadvantage 
of  home  education,  Oxford  frames  with  pictures 
of  young  women  in  nightgowns  clinging  to  slaps  of 
rock  in  a  storm,  statuettes  under  bell  jars,  cut  glass 
candlesticks  and  baskets  of  wax  fruit,  have  yet  con- 
trived to  be  athletic  and  to  identify  themselves  with 
the  best  that  is  characteristic  of  modern  girlhood. 
The  mother  has  a  little  the  air  of  being  a  general 
officer  in  command.  She  keeps  things  up  to  the 
mark.  The  girls  do  what  they  are  supposed  to  do. 
The  nine  gardeners  work  seriously — as  though  they 


90  THOMAS 

knew  they  had  better  not  leave  off.  The  butler  and 
two  footmen  bear  themselves  as  if  "master"  were 
about;  in  fact,  the  butler  seems  to  be  a  broken  man. 
He  has  formed  a  habit  of  grudging  obedience  like  a 
tamed  lion.  Mrs.  Graham  meets  his  sulkiness  with 
dignified,  gentle  ferocity.  It  is,  no  doubt,  mere  usage, 
and  there  is  no  feeling  on  either  side. 

The  lady  was  crossing  the  entrance  hall  as  I  gave 
my  name,  and  hurried  to  greet  me.  I  followed  her 
to  the  boudoir.  The  girls  were  somewhere  about,  she 
said.  A  Miss  Farquhar  was  staying  with  them;  there 
were  no  other  guests.  Would  I  like  my  things  car- 
ried up  to  my  room,  so  that  I  could  take  the  car  to 
the  stables? 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  after  a  pause,  which  would 
just  have  given  the  butler  time  to  get  to  the  door  if 
he  had  been  standing  on  the  mark  with  running 
corks,  she  took  hold  of  it  again  and  wrenched  at  it 
two  or  three  times  fiercely,  but  quite  amiably.  Shortly 
afterwards  the  door  began  to  open  so  mysteriously 
that  I  found  myself  staring  at  it  and  wondering  what 
was  going  to  happen.  It  was  the  butler  entering. 

"Yes,  we  all  had  a  very  pleasant  six  weeks  in 
Town,"  my  hostess  said,  when  the  butler  had  re- 
ceived his  orders  and  retired,  "and  I  was  thankful 
to  get  away  from  house  worries.  We  stayed  at  De 
Vere  Mansions,  as  you  know,  and  took  our  meals 
in  the  restaurant.  I  gave  a  couple  of  dinners,  and 
the  girls  had  a  number  of  dances  and  theater  parties, 
and  ought  to  consider  themselves  lucky  young  women. 


HILDON   HALL  91' 

I  feel  all  the  better  for  the  rest — ah!  here  they  are," 
she  broke  off:  "you  know  Maude  and  Valerie,  let  me 
introduce  you  to  Miss  Farquhar." 

This  was  my  first  meeting  with  little  Nibbs.  She 
held  up  her  hand  as  if  she  thought  I  might  like  to 
kiss  it;  looked  at  me  glitteringly ;  and  then  turned 
about  to  show  off  her  pretty  little  figure. 

Maude  and  Valerie  exhibited  their  usual  fresh 
comely  faces,  and  if  in  country  clothes  they  looked 
a  little  less  tapering  and  sylph-like  than  when  I  saw 
them  last  in  London,  there  is  nothing  wrong  with 
that.  In  fact,  I  like  it  better.  It  is  more  wholesome. 
It  is  less  disturbing  to  my  peace  of  mind ;  I  prefer  girls 
in  mufti.  I  come  of  Puritan  stock,  and  when  I  see 
a  girl  exquisitely  dressed  I  suffer  from  conflicting 
ambitions;  and  one  of  those  ambitions  is  to  get  to 
work  on  her  with  an  axe.  Little  Nibbs  seems  to 
think  that  the  whole  duty  of  a  woman  is  to  make 
herself  look  wicked,  and  I  believe  that  if  she  did  not 
do  it  so  badly  I  should  have  had  those  two  worrying 
little  feet  off  her  before  now;  for  the  same  reaso» 
that  if  I  found  myself  in  the  stalls,  of  a  musical- 
comedy  theater  with  a  gun,  I  should  be  impelled  to 
shoot  at  the  stage.  My  respect  for  womankind  would 
demand  it  of  me. 

While  I  was  passing  the  time  of  day  with  Maude 
and  Valerie  I  became  aware  that  Bates  had  come 
into  the  room  and  was  standing  dejectedly  as  if  he 
were  poised  to  make  a  "dead  man's  dive,"  which  is 
a  high  dive  with  the  arms  held  to  the  sides.  Mrs. 


92  THOMAS 

Graham  indicated  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  me. 

"Do  you  wish  everything  taken  out  of  the  car 
conveyed  to  your  room,  sir?" 

"Yes,"  I  told  him,  "except  the  golf  clubs  and 
those  things.  Perhaps  they  could  stay  down- 
stairs." 

Bates  drooped  towards  me,  and  turned  to  leave 
the  room,  but  a  moment  later  he  was  back  again  as 
before. 

"Do  you  wish  the  dog  conveyed  to  your  room, 
sir?" 

"The  dog!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Oh!  have  you  brought  a  dog?"  cried  Valerie. 
"Where  is  he?" 

"No,  I  haven't  brought  any  .  .  .  Oh  yes — of 
course,  yes — No.  Not  upstairs — It'll  come  out — 
Yes.  That's  all  right,  thanks. — No,  I've  not  brought 
any  dog,"  I  explained  to  the  girls.  "He's  made  a 
mistake.  It's  quite  all  right — I'll  go  and  show  him. 
There's  no  trouble  about  it — I  shan't  be  a  minute 
— I  must  just  go  and  see  what  he  means,"  and  I 
nodded  cheerfully  to  the  company  and  led  the  way 
out,  shutting  the  door  behind  Bates. 

"What  on  earth  made  you  say  that  before  the 
ladies?"  I  asked. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  would  not  wish  it  con- 
veyed to  your  room,  sir." 

"Good  gracious!  Of  course  not!  I  forgot  all 
about  it.  I'll  take  it  round  to  the  stables." 

"Why,  it's  gone !"  I  exclaimed,  when  I  looked  into 


HILDON  HALL  93 

the  car.  Bates  fell  back  from  the  entrance  invitingly 
and  I  leaped  up  the  steps  again.  The  donkey  had 
arranged  a  sort  of  lying-in-state  for  poor  Viccy  on 
a  newspaper  against  the  wall  of  the  entrance  hall. 

"My  dear  man!"  I  expostulated.  "Put  it  back 
quickly.  The  young  ladies  didn't  see  it,  did  they?" 

"I  think  not,  sir." 

I  noticed  the  boudoir  door  beginning  to  open.  I 
sprang  to  it.  Miss  Farquhar's  smiling  face  looked 
into  mine  through  a  six-inch  opening:  devouring 
curiosity  was  in  her  eyes.  I  shut  the  door  and  held 
it.  "Quick!"  I  whispered,  beside  myself.  "Put  it 
back  in  the  car." 

Bates  was  evidently  looking  about  for  a  footman. 
As  a  butler  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  do  the  thing 
himself,  and  he  was  not  used  to  finding  a  footman 
all  of  a  sudden.  He  was  lost. 

I  let  go  the  door-handle,  caught  up  the  parcel, 
and  rushed  out  to  Susan.  I  had  started  the  engine 
and  was  getting  into  the  seat  when  Miss  Farquhar 
came  to  the  entrance  door  and  stood  looking  down 
at  me  with  a  pleased  smile,  as  though  we  had  been 
playing  a  game. 

"I  see  you,"  she  said. 

Once  round  in  the  stable  yard,  all  was  serene. 
What  a  mercy  men  are  to  be  sure.  They  came 
round  the  car.  They  regretted  the  poor  bitch,  ap- 
proved her  little  defaced  points,  and  undertook  her 
obsequies  with  a  grave  air  of  competence  which  left 
me  to  know  that  the  little  carcase  would  be  treated 


94  THOMAS 

with  respect.  In  point  of  fact,  I  found  two  days 
later  that  one  of  the  stable  boys  had  been  to  con- 
siderable trouble  in  shaping  a  headstone  out  of  a 
bit  of  oak  paling,  and  had  painted  the  name  "Viccy" 
and  the  date  upon  it,  and  set  it  up  in  the  place. 

As  I  was  returning  to  the  house  I  heard  a  firm 
quick  step  behind  me  and  the  chinking  of  golf  clubs, 
and  behold  Rachel  was  laughing  at  me  and  telling 
me  she  had  recognized  my  back.  She  was  rosy  and 
a  little  breathless  with  rapid  walking.  I  knew  better 
than  to  offer  to  carry  her  clubs.  There  is  no  mistake 
about  Rachel  being  a  very  bonny  lass  indeed.  She 
is  a  quaint  little  thing  too;  not  that  ske  is  really 
small,  however.  She  is  less  in  height  than  her 
sisters,  certainly,  but  I  don't  mind  that.  She  has 
an  oval  face  with  high  cheeks  as  firm  as  apples,  which 
give  her  a  slightly  Japanese  look.  When  she  laughs 
her  eyes  seem  to  shut  up,  and  they  don't  come  out 
again  until  she  begins  to  get  serious.  If  you  catch 
her  at  a  thoughtful  moment  they  are  big  hazel  eyes. 
Of  course  her  hair  is  brown.  I  don't  care  for  fair 
hair  such  as  the  show  Nibbs  puts  up  with  curling 
tongs,  and  crimping  irons,  and  lotion,  and  electric 
brushes.  She  is  quite  simple  and  outspoken,  and 
always  sees  a  thing  in  the  right  way,  and  laughs  at 
the  right  moment,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  she  is 
somehow  very  reserved.  There  is  a  sort  of  mystery 
about  her.  One  wonders  what  is  behind  those  funny 
screwed-up  laughing  eyes;  and  what  does  she  think 
about  when  she  is  thoughtful?  She  seems  to  spend 


HILDON   HALL  95 

much  time  by  herself,  while  her  sisters  go  in  double 
harness  most  of  the  day.  For  instance,  the  morning 
I  arrived  she  had  been  out  practising  over  the  five 
holes  that  have  been  laid  out  in  the  park.  I  have 
only  seen  her  once  in  the  least  put  out,  and  that  was 
at  a  moment  when  I  surprised  her  reading  and  noticed 
the  book  before  I  realized  that  she  did  not  intend 
that  I  should.  I  won't  say  what  it  was,  except  that 
it  was  the  poet  The  Benson  is  always  yapping  about 
because  hardly  anyone  can  understand  him. 

We  got  through  an  informal  lunch  with  the  help 
of  the  butler,  two  footmen,  and  a  sort  of  midship- 
man of  the  servants'  hall,  who,  though  he  had  washed 
his  face  and  brushed  his  hair  till  he  appeared  brand 
new,  had  evidently  forgotten  to  look  at  his  hands 
in  a  glass.  In  spite  of  this  parade  of  servitors, 
Mrs.  Graham,  indicating  the  side-table,  invited  me 
to  help  myself,  which  I  was  glad  to  do;  and  the 
ranks  opened  out  and  let  me  through  and  pointedly 
ignored  my  operations  on  the  sirloin  and  a  double- 
cured  Bradenham  ham  which  I  shall  remember  to 
my  dying  day. 

Little  Nibbs  kept  prodding  me  on  the  subject  of 
the  dog.  It  was  clear  she  was  eaten  up  with 
curiosity. 

"We  thought  Mr.  Quinn  had  brought  a  dog  with 
him,"  she  finally  said  in  a  pointed  way  to  Rachel. 
"The  butler  said  so.  But  it  was  a  mistake  after  all. 
Isn't  it  funny!  Mr.  Quinn  says  there  wasn't  any 
dog,  don't  you,  Mr.  Quinn?" 


96  THOMAS 

At  this  moment  Bates  was  filling  my  glass.  The 
firmness  of  his  hand  gave  me  fortitude. 

"There  is  an  iron  thing  used  to  grip  the  wheels 
which  some  people  call  a  dog,"  I  said.  "But  I 
always  call  it  a  sprag,  and  so  confusion  sometimes 
arises." 

I  saw  Nibbs  looking  at  me  archly  over  her  ever- 
lasting smile  as  I  changed  the  subject,  but  no  one 
else  seemed  interested.  The  little  wretch  had  com- 
pelled me  to  lie.  It  was  a  poisonous  thing  to  tell 
fibs  to  those  fine-spirited  young  women.  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  take  it  out  of  little  Nibbs  by  all  fair 
means.  I  even  for  a  moment  imagined  myself  fright- 
ening her  in  the  dark. 

After  lunch  I  found  a  chance  of  privately  telling 
Mrs.  Graham  all  that  had  happened.  She  was 
amused.  "It  was  just  like  Bates,"  she  said.  "He 
is  utterly  foolish,  a  real  Simple  Simon,  and  worth 
his  weight  in  gold;  a  perfect  godsend  to  me.  If  he 
tried  to  cheat  me  I  should  find  him  out  at  once.  I 
always  know  what  is  in  his  mind,  and  he  is  the  greatest 
comfort." 

This  morning  I  got  a  letter  from  Nita.  She  cer- 
tainly can  be  almost  annoying.  This  is  how  she 
begins : — 

"DEAR  T , 

"I  got  the  olives,  but  I  wouldn't  think  of  de- 
vouring anything  so  precious.  You  are  blossoming 
out  at  last,  old  man,  depend  on  it,  and  this  is  the 


HILDON  HALL  97 

first  bud.  I  hope  you  feel  none  the  worse  for  it. 
I  have  written  your  name  and  date  on  the  bottle  and 
strapped  it  with  pink  ribbon  finished  with  a  bow.  It 
is  now  in  the  drawing-room  and  looks  like  a  bottle 
of  scent.  The  Verschoyles,  who  came  in  yesterday 
afternoon,  agreed  that  you  were  getting  quite  sen- 
timental in  your  old  age.  ..." 

It  is  really  not  playing  the  game  for  a  girl  to  give 
a  fellow  away  like  that;  besides,  she  knows  that  I 
sent  the  olives  as  a  joke,  pure  and  simple.  Then 
at  the  end  of  the  letter  she  writes: 

P.S.— How  is  Valerie  !   !   ! 

I  don't  see  any  point  in  it.  Nita  does  not  know 
any  of  the  Grahams.  I  wonder  what  her  idea  is. 
Has  she  heard  that  Valerie  is  a  very  dazzling  person, 
and  is  trying  to  pull  my  leg? 

By  the  same  post  I  received  a  picture  postcard  of 
Gwennie  Marchmon,  the  "Popular  Comedienne"  as 
she  entitles  herself :  great  coarse  chaps  and  a  naked 
neck  under  a  wide  hat,  leering  eyes,  and  lips  pain- 
fully retracted  from  two  rows  of  heavy  teeth  like  a 
horse  preparing  to  bite  you.  It  had  been  posted 
from  London  and  redirected.  I  could  not  recognize 
the  writing,  but  I  supposed  it  was  from  Bat.  It  made 
me  laugh,  and  I  passed  it  round  the  table  where 
we  sat  at  breakfast.  I  wish  I  hadn't  now.  The 
Graham  girls  did  not  seem  to  think  it  funny  when 
they  glanced  at  it,  and  Mrs.  Graham  remarked,  "What 


98  THOMAS 

a  terrible  looking  young  person,"  and  turned  it  down. 
Thereupon  little  Nibbs  at  once  stretched  for  it,  and 
Mrs.  Graham  pushed  it  towards  her. 

As  she  examined  it  she  asked: 

"Do  you  know  her,  Mr.  Quinn?" 

I  had  no  intention  of  letting  Miss  Nibbs  worry 
me.  The  question  might  have  been  mischievous. 

"I  met  her  out  motoring  once,"  I  said — "I  ran  over 
her.  You  can  see  she  was  still  in  pain  when  the 
photograph  was  taken." 

Nibbs  rapidly  glanced  from  face  to  face  round 
the  table  like  a  pretty  little  yellow  ferret.  She 
seemed  to  nose  a  mystery. 

I  have  been  thoroughly  enjoying  myself  here, 
although  I  really  don't  know  why.  It  is  all  very  quiet. 
Nothing  exciting  happens.  Take  yesterday,  for  in- 
stance. After  breakfast  Rachel  drove  me  into  the 
village  where  she  had  some  commissions.  The  girls 
don't  ride.  Mrs.  Graham  seems  to  think  it  is  dan- 
gerous; and  there  is  no  car.  They  are  waiting  for 
the  carriage-horses  to  die.  Castor  and  Pollux  are 
as  big  as  giraffes,  and  their  special  duty  is  to  prance 
a  yard  into  the  air  for  every  foot  of  progress; 
to  champ  the  bit ;  to  rattle  their  silver  mount- 
ings, and  cover  themselves  with  lather.  Eked 
out  with  cockades  for  the  coachman  and  foot- 
man, and  a  black  silk  mantle  and  ostrich  plumes 
for  Mrs.  Graham,  the  whole  turnout  is  the 
best  contrivance  for  leaving  visiting  cards  at  the 
houses  of  people  you  don't  want  to  know  that  can  be 


HILDON   HALL  99 

well  imagined,   but  it  does  not  satisfy  the  modern 
taste  for  getting  there. 

Rachel,  however,  has  availed  herself  of  permission 
to  drive,  by  sporting  a  buggy  and  an  American  pacer. 
I  hang  over  to  one  side  of  the  bucket-seat  in  which 
we  sit  jambed  up  together,  and  Rachel  leant  forward 
with  the  reins  twisted  round  her  rather  fat  little 
thumbs,  and  we  skim  along  at  twenty  miles  an  hour. 
What  Ham  exactly  does  with  his  legs  I  don't  know, 
but  he  is  a  glorious  little  beast  and  seems  to  run  on 
wheels.  The  girl  can  steer  to  an  inch,  and  as  the 
country  people  have  never  got  rid  of  the  idea  that 
Ham  is  running  away  and  always  move  to  the  side 
of  the  road,  we  streak  into  Lidham  and  out  again  in 
no  time. 

"I  daren't  look,"  Mrs.  Graham  said  to  me  one  day, 
turning  away  as  Rachel  came  pacing  round  the 
sweep  of  the  drive  like  a  skater  on  the  outside  edge. 
"I  wish  you  could  make  her  drive  more  slowly,"  she 
added. 

I  did  not  feel  able  to  undertake  this.  I  hav«, 
however,  been  coaching  Rachel  at  golf,  and  we  went 
out  after  getting  back  yesterday.  We  had  a  pleasant 
morning,  only  marred  by  little  Nibbs,  who  came 
creeping  to  us,  richly  dressed,  and  stood  by  looking 
on  and  listening.  She  managed  to  convey  to  us  that, 
though  intelligently  interested,  she  was  also  bored 
by  our  commonplace  employment.  Rachel  invited  her 
to  try  her  hand,  and  she  responded  with  smiling  con- 
descension, but  as  she  had  no  idaa  what  to  do,  and 


100  THOMAS 

no  ambition,  and  persisted  in  keeping  her  eye  on  me 
instead  of  on  the  ball,  it  was  rather  a  nuisance.  She 
is  a  pretty  little  witch  and  seems  to  be  rolling  in 
money,  to  judge  from  her  clothes  and  jewels;  but 
her  dress  is  always  impracticable  and  unfitted  for  the 
purpose,  or  indeed  for  any  purpose  except  to  rouse 
unruly  passions.  She  is  always  holding  her  rich 
skirts  and  mincing  about  in  fragile  looking  shoes,  so 
that  no  one  shall  forget  the  enchantment  of  her  fem- 
ininity. How  she  can  be  so  lost  to  what  is  womanly 
with  Rachel  before  her  as  a  model,  is  more  than  I 
can  understand.  There  is  nothing  more  beautiful  than 
Rachel's  feet  when  she  is  in  golfing  kit.  If  a  painter 
wanted  a  subject  for  an  Academy  picture,  there  it  is 
for  him:  Rachel's  two  feet — nothing  else.  Imagine 
them!  She  wears  an  Irish  frieze  skirt:  a  light  black 
and  white  mixture  of  a  bluish  cast  and  of  sensible 
length.  Below  you  see  rough,  pale  blue-gray,  ribbed 
worsted  stockings  and  black  brogues.  There  is  some- 
thing quite  bewitching  in  the  small,  hard,  blunt, 
leather  shoes,  and  the  warm,  rough  stocking  clothing 
the  strong,  light,  shaft  of  the  leg  that  carries  her  so 
gracefully.  It  is  all  Rachel's  own  idea,  too.  It  is 
just  characteristic  of  her.  Clean,  neat,  serviceable, 
and  expressive  of  nice  feeling  and  feminine  conscious- 
ness— for  there  is  not  an  atom  of  mannishness  about 
Rachel.  I  admire  Rachel's  shoes  and  stockings 
enormously.  I  wish  I  had  not  made  that  remark 
about  her  being  like  Maude  and  Valerie  shaken  up 
together  in  a  bottle.  It  is  true  in  a  sense,  but  Nita 


HILDON  HALL  101 

will  joke  about  it  and  people  will  not  understand  how 
I  meant  it. 

After  lunch  I  slipped  away  to  read,  as  I  generally 
do,  or  write,  till  tea.  I  always  take  the  precaution, 
after  strolling  out  of  sight,  to  pelt  away  round  to 
the  other  side  of  the  house,  or  back  on  my  own 
tracks,  so  as  to  baffle  pursuit  in  case  Nibbs  should 
come  crawling  after  me,  as  I  feel  sure  she  did  on 
one  occasion. 

There  is  a  mystery  about  this  young  lady.  All 
I  can  gather  is  that  "She  is  not  very  happy  at  home." 
I  can  quite  understand  that.  She  would  certainly 
not  be  happy  in  any  home  of  mine.  She  appears  to 
have  no  special  grounds  of  intimacy  with  the 
Grahams.  She  condescends  to  them,  and  seems  to  try 
on  all  occasions  to  point  her  own  superiority  in  social 
experience,  cultivated  tastes,  dress,  and  personal 
attractions.  They  must  be  extremely  good-natured 
girls,  for  when  there  are  visitors  here  "Nibby  dear," 
as  they  call  her,  lays  herself  out  to  attract  and  hold 
attention  to  the  exclusion  of  everyone  else,  by  dressing 
conspicuously  and  making  conversation  in  a  high 
throaty  voice  about  art,  and  music,  and  old  lace,  and 
old  bungalorum.  It  is  only  on  these  occasions  that 
she  takes  much  notice  of  her  little  dog.  She  carries 
him  about  with  her,  holds  him  against  her  face,  and, 
at  tea,  makes  him  go  through  all  his  tricks.  Yes- 
terday, when  the  Wyndacottes  and  others  came  in 
to  tennis,  "Baby,"  however,  would  not  do  his  tricks 
properly.  By  tomorrow  he  will  not  do  them  at  all, 


102  THOMAS 

I  hope,  for  I  am  privately  wnteaching  him.  I  tell  him 
to  lie  dead  and  repeatedly  stir  him  up  with  my  foot 
until  he  refuses  to  obey  and  gets  the  bit  of  sugar; 
or  I  tell  him  to  sit  up  and  keep  on  pushing  him  over 
until  he  becomes  sulky  and  won't,  and  is  rewarded. 
It  requires  patience,  but  I  have  plenty  to  spare  in  the 
interests  of  these  topping  young  women  in  comparison 
with  whom  little  Nibbs  is  absolute  rubbish. 

I  have  decided  to  try  an  "Airy  Nothing  for  the  Ball- 
room" on  Nibbs.  Nita's  letter  has  reminded  me  of 
Social  Deportment,  and  I  have  been  looking  at  it. 
There  may  be  something  in  what  the  author  says 
after  all.  I  certainly  do  not  make  much  way  with 
the  girls  here.  There  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  crust  I 
can't  get  through.  I  do  not  feel  in  the  least  that  I 
am  getting  into  her  confidence.  There  are  pauses  be- 
tween us  sometimes  when  I  have  to  think  what  to  say 
to  her  next — to  Rachel,  I  mean.  I  want  to  know 
more  about  her,  and  she  behaves  as  if  there  were  not 
any  more  about  her;  in  fact,  we  got  on  much  better 
in  the  first  days  of  my  visit  when  there  seemed  to 
be  none  of  these  reserves.  You  can't  help  thinking 
of  her  and  wondering  about  her.  There  is  something 
fascinating  in  the  composed  air  of  her  broad,  swift 
motions — I  can't  describe  it — and  the  way  her  shoulder 
slopes  away  just  by  her  neck,  and  all  sorts  of  other 
things  too.  She  is  quite  different  from  anyone  else 
and  you  can't  forget  her.  I  feel  it  may  be  my  own 
fault  that  we  don't  get  on  better,  and  so  I  am  going 
to  try  an  "Airy  Nothing"  on  Nibbs,  just  as  a  test,  and 


HILDON   HALL  103 

to  see  if  I  can  do  it  right.  If  she  does  not  respond 
I  shall  not  mind,  and  no  harm  will  be  done.  If  it 
goes  off  well  I  shall  feel  justified  in  feeling  my  way 
to  something  of  the  same  kind  with  Rachel. 

Although  little  Nibbs  is,  as  I  have  said,  such  a 
little  horror,  she  contributes  in  some  degree  to  my 
entertainment  here,  for  it  is  quite  good  fun  laying" 
plans  to  let  her  down  heavily  when  she  deserves  it — 
which  is  forty  times  a  day.  It  is  a  tame  business 
certainly,  but  it  becomes  quite  absorbing  when  one 
gives  one's  mind  to  it,  and  helps  to  fill  in  the  time 
and  make  things  pleasant. 

For  instance,  last  night,  when  there  was  no  one 
dining  here  and  we  spent  a  quiet  evening,  Nibbs, 
(who  was  ostentatiously  making  notes  from  a  large 
volume  brought  from  the  library,)  feeling  that  she 
was  not  being  observed,  said  across  the  room  to 
Rachel : 

"It  says  here  that  the  real  old  Blue  Nankin  was 
not  made  in  Nankin  at  all ;  I  never  knew  that.  Isn't 
it  interesting?" 

"Very,  Nibby  dear,"  said  Rachel. 

Rachel  does  not  care  about  Blue  Nankin,  or  Red 
Yankow,  or  Green  Meeow,  or  Yellow  Bow-wow-wow, 
any  more  than  Nibbs  does.  Nibbs  only  pretends  these 
things  in  order  to  shine.  I  have  seen  her  sitting  apart 
and  admiring  a  miniature  with  an  eye  alert  to  note 
whether  the  movements  of  her  pretty  little  neck — 
which  I  should  like  to  clip  through  with  the  garden 
shears — was  being  observed.  Her  admiration  of  the 


104  THOMAS 

miniature  was  entirely  due  to  a  rather  fanciful  low 
lace  collar  she  was  wearing. 

Soon  after,  she  went  to  the  piano  and  began  to 
play  Grieg's  Wedding  March  so  softly  as  to  be 
hardly  audible,  till  at  last  Rachel  said,  "Do  play  it, 
dear/'  and  we  had  it  for  the  third  time  that  day. 
It  is  her  show  piece.  She  does  not  seem  to  care  to 
play  anything  else.  She  plays  it  with  a  terrible 
facility,  in  which  the  pedal  is  put  down  to  cover  up 
the  untidy  places.  After  she  had  played  "Grigg's 
dance,"  as  I  call  it,  twice,  she  suddenly  got  up,  with 
an  exclamation  that  made  Mrs.  Graham  look  round 
and  held  the  attention  of  us  all. 

"Oh,  do  let's  play  a  game  of  week-ends!" 

Rachel  good-humoredly  put  down  her  book ;  Maude 
and  Valerie  did  not  seem  to  find  their  game  of  Halma 
interesting;  and  Mrs.  Graham's  letters  could  appar- 
ently wait  quite  well ;  so  we  sat  down  with  pencils 
and  bits  of  paper  to  gratify  Nibbs  by  making  a  list, 
in  three  minutes  by  my  watch,  of  as  many  things  as 
we  could  think  of  beginning  with  "T"  that  we  might 
take  away  on  a  week-end  visit. 

Nibbs  is  always  springing  brainy  little  games  on 
us,  because  she  rather  excels  at  them.  She  wanted 
taking  down  again. 

When  "time's  up"  was  declared,  I  had  only 
eleven  words,  which  was  but  half  the  number  on 
any  other  list.  Nibbs,  of  course,  had  the  most.  Each 
in  turn  read  out  the  words  on  her  list,  and  if  anyone 
else  had  the  same  word,  that  word  was  struck  out 


HILDON  HALL  105 

by  everyone.  "Trunk,"  "Toilet  Case,"  "Ticket,"  etc. 
etc.,  however,  did  not  affect  me,  and  I  still  had  my 
eleven  words  intact  when  my  turn  came,  last  of  all, 
to  read  out  the  things  I  might  take  away  with  me  on 
a  week-end  visit.  The  first  was  "Typhoid  Fever." 

This  led  to  a  discussion.  Nibbs  said  it  was  not  a 
fair  word.  Why  not?  Typhoid  Fever  was  quite  a 
likely  thing  to  take  away  on  a  week-end  visit,  I  con- 
tended. It  must  have  actually  happened  over  and 
over  again.  You  might  not  know  you  had  it  on  you. 
A  week-end  visitor  was  much  more  likely  to  bring 
Typhoid  to  a  house  than  a  Tambourine,  which  was 
one  of  the  words  Nibbs  had  scored  with. 

In  the  end,  Typhoid  Fever  was  allowed,  and  the 
road  was  clear  for: 

"Toothache,  Trichinosis,  Thrush,  Typhus,  Ton- 
silitis,  and  Tetanus."  Next  I  offered  "Tagarosis." 

Nibbs  questioned  this  last. 

"Tagarosis,"  I  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  mild  reproach. 
"You've  heard  of  'Tagarosis'?" 

The  Grahams  had  not,  but  little  Nibbs  exclaimed: 
"Oh,  certainly;  how  forgetful  I  am."  So  I  scored 
it.  "Tozopethisis." 

Nibbs  swallowed  this,  too,  when  I  had  suggested 
that  she  probably  knew  the  disease  by  its  more  com- 
mon name  of  "Remps." 

And  so  on.  Final  score — Nibbs  eight,  me  eleven. 
Down  goes  Nibbs,  "and  so  to  bed,"  as  the  diarists 
say. 


CHAPTER  VII 

I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL 

MRS.  GRAHAM'S  confidences  on  the  subject  of 
her  butler  have  led  me  to  take  an  interest  in 
one  of  the  footmen,  who,  in  the  afternoon,  wears 
powder  and  black  satin  breeches,  and  swags,  knots, 
and  tassels  of  silken  cord  slung  across  his  chest. 
He  wears  powder,  too,  when  he  goes  out  with  the 
carriage  to  help  Mrs.  Graham,  Castor,  and  Pollux 
distribute  visiting  cards.  From  childhood  there  has 
always,  for  me,  been  a  glamor  over  the  powdered 
footman,  and  I  asked  the  poor  chap  how  he  did  it. 
Instead  of  crushed  pearls  supported  in  ambergris  and 
maccassar  oil,  I  find  that  the  dignity  of  the  Graham 
family  is  upheld,  and  a  wholesome  chill  struck  to 
the  hearts  of  unwelcome  callers,  with  nothing  more 
than  flour  and  soap.  It  seemed  to  me  that  oswego, 
or  even  ground  rice  or  semolina,  would  be  more  im- 
pressive, but  Wilfred  said  he  had  not  tried  them.  He 
answered  my  question  so  seriously  that  I  did  not 
follow  up  my  idea  of  bribing  him  to  drest  himself 
with  tapioca  pudding,  to  see  how  Mrs.  Graham  would 

106 


I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL  107 

take  it.  Thinking  I  was  interested  in  the  subject,  the 
poor  fellow  surprised  me  by  returning  with  "those 
tools  of  his  trade"  which  cannot  be  seized  to  satisfy 
a  debt,  namely,  a  very  old  hair-brush ;  a  bar  of  yellow 
soap  much  used  up ;  and  a  large  tin  flour-dredger. 
You  wet  the  brush  and  damp  your  hair,  and  alter- 
nately brush  the  soap  and  your  head  till  there  is  a 
certain  quantity  of  soap  in  your  hair,  and — as  I 
observed — a  certain  quantity  of  hair  on  the  soap.  You 
then  spread  a  newspaper  on  the  floor,  robe  yourself 
in  towels,  stop  your  ears,  and  turn  on  the  flour  without 
stint.  Wilfred,  however,  tells  me  it  is  not  correct 
to  dress  the  eyebrows  or  eyelashes.  When  you  have 
knocked  your  head  once  or  twice  against  the  wall, 
you  are  ready  to  open  the  front  door,  always  pro- 
vided that  if  you  trip  on  the  stairs,  or  sneeze,  you 
must  get  someone  to  brush  you  down.  It  is  very  easy, 
it  seems,  for  a  powdered  footman  to  be  too  much 
powdered. 

Mrs.  Graham  is  accustomed  to  make  considerable 
sacrifices  in  the  cause  of  dignity,  and  her  daughters 
have  been  taught  better  than  to  interfere.  One  after- 
noon at  tea  there  was  a  flutter  among  the  girls,  and 
Valerie  got  very  pink.  Mrs.  Graham  took  command 
at  once  and  rang  the  bell.  It  appeared  that  there  was 
a  wasp  in  the  room  and  Valerie  "does  not  like 
wasps."  Her  sisters  respect  that  dislike,  and  Valerie 
has  grown  up  to  feel  that  she  would  not  be  doing 
what  was  expected  of  her  if  she  allowed  a  wasp  in  the 
room  without  showing  feeling.  Mrs.  Graham  rang 


108  THOMAS 

the  bell  a  second  time,  falling  back  in  her  chair  after 
the  violence  of  the  attack,  and  when  Bates  opened 
the  door  the  bell  could  be  faintly  heard  pealing  in  the 
distance.  Bates,  being  informed  of  the  trouble  ad- 
vanced to  the  wrong  window ;  was  directed  by  Mrs. 
Graham  to  the  right  one;  and  made  a  thorough  in- 
spection of  the  wasp  hurrying  up  and  tumbling  down 
the  pane.  He  appeared  to  be  satisfied  for  he  made 
no  comment,  and  withdrew.  Three  minutes  later 
Mrs.  Graham  again  rang  the  bell.  Bates  entered  as 
though  he  had  been  awaiting  the  signal  and  held  the 
door  for  the  entrance  of  another  person.  This  proved 
to  be  the  second  footman  with  a  napkin.  Bates  closed 
the  door  and  led  the  way  to  the  window ;  the  footman 
adroitly  smothered  the  wasp  in  the  napkin,  and, 
escorted  by  Bates,  who  opened  the  door  and  went 
out  after  him,  carried  it  from  the  room.  The  whole 
thing  took  about  seven  minutes.  A  practical  man 
would  have  dabbed  a  bit  of  bread  and  butter  over 
the  wasp  and  then  thrown  it  out  on  the  path  for  some- 
one to  carry  away  on  his  boot,  in  twenty  seconds. 
There  is  a  strapping  great  chap  here  known  to  the 
Grahams  as  Edgar  Druce,  a  brother  of  the  Druce 
girls  who  live  at  the  next  place  and  inundate  Hildon 
from  time  to  time.  He  is  Captain  in  an  Indian  Regi- 
ment and  has  just  arrived  home  on  leave.  The 
Grahams  seem  to  have  caught  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
sisters  for  their  brother,  for,  so  far  as  I  can  discover, 
the  special  merit  in  the  man  appears  to  lie  in  the 
fact  that  he  once  killed  a  tiger.  After  seeing  him, 


I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL  109 

I  can  imagine  that  Edgar  trod  on  the  unlucky  tiger. 
He  is  an  enormous  man,  six  foot  five  or  thereabouts, 
with  flanks  like  a  bullock.  Valerie  says  he  is  a 
"magnificent  lawn-tennis  player."  Oh,  is  he!  We 
will  try  that.  This  morning  I  found  that  Rachel 
had  arranged  to  take  him  over  the  five  holes.  They 
asked  me  to  join,  but  it  would  have  been  a  three- 
cornered  affair  so  I  backed  out.  I  know  what  the 
result  will  be:  he  will  put  Rachel  wrong  and  undo 
all  my  work.  She  was  just  getting  nicely  into  my 
swing. 

When  they  moved  off  I  turned,  and  was  confronted 
by  little  Nibbs  smiling  at  me  archly  with  her  head 
on  one  side,  and  asking  whether  I  was  going  to  take 
the  boat  out.  The  Grahams  never  use  the  boat,  and 
I  had  accepted  this  idea  from  Nibbs  on  a  previous 
occasion,  so  she  went  to  "get  ready,"  stepping  daintily 
on  to  the  sill  of  the  open  window  and  flashing  a 
glance  over  her  shoulder  to  see  whether  I  was  look- 
ing at  her.  Ten  minutes  later  she  joined  me,  having 
decorated  herself  in  various  subtle  ways,  and  with  a 
dashing  hat,  a  green  silk  parasol,  and  a  sort  of  cloak 
affair  lined  with  crimson  satin,  which  she  handed  to 
me  to  carry  for  her. 

We  procured  the  key  of  the  boathouse  and  found 
the  boat  half  full  of  water  with  a  dead  bat  floating. 
We  got  things  cleared  up,  however,  and  rugs  fetched 
from  the  house,  and  at  last  little  Nibbs  was  en- 
throned with  her  fineries  in  the  stern  and  I  was 
paddling  past  the  serpentine  banks  loaded  with 


110  THOMAS 

rhododendrons  upon  which  a  few  blooms  still  lingered. 
My  passenger  took  off  one  of  her  gloves  and  watched 
her  jeweled  fingers  trailing  in  the  water,  glancing  up  at 
me  with  a  little  self-conscious  smile,  from  time  to  time. 

Conversation  flagged.  Nibbs  has  no  small-talk. 
She  cannot  play.  There  is  an  undercurrent  of  mean- 
ing running  through  her  talk  which  one  soon  becomes 
quick  to  recognize,  and  almost  everything  she  says 
either  detracts  from  others  by  condescending  to  them, 
or  directly  implies  her  own  superiority. 

"This  is  a  very  quiet  house,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Quinn?" 
she  said  after  a  pause. 

"Yes.     Don't  you  like  it?" 

"Oh  yes.  It's  delightful — so  restful ;  one  can  re- 
cuperate and  start  again  like  a  giant  refreshed  after 
a  visit  here." 

No  comment. 

"I  am  rather  sorry  for  the  Grahams — the  girls 
I  mean;  they  must  feel  rather  out  of  it  some- 
times." 

No  comment. 

"What  a  pity  it  is  Valerie  does  not  dress  better, 
Mr.  Quinn;  such  a  pretty  girl  if  she  were  not  quite 
so  lumpish.  Dear  old  Valerie,  I  am  devoted  to  her; 
she  is  so  simple!  Like  an  affectionate  old  dog,  a 
perfect  dear,  isn't  she?" 

"The  Grahams  are  old  friends  of  mine,"  I  said. 
"It  is  a  little  difficult  for  me  to  discuss  them." 

The  young  lady  continued  to  smile  at  the  water 
rippling  against  her  fingers.  After  a  pause  she  said: 


I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL  111 

"What  is  your  favorite  book,  Mr.  Quinn?"  Then 
she  added,  "My  favorite  is  Browning,  The  Ring  and 
the  Book;  it  used  to  be  Shakespeare — but  not  now; 
what's  yours?" 

"How  to  be  Happy  though  Married"  I  said  at  a 
venture. 

This  seemed  to  take  little  Nibbs  from  a  new  direc- 
tion. She  said  nothing  for  a  time.  Then  the  little 
wretch  began : 

"Don't  you  think  'Rachel'  a  very  pretty  name,  Mr. 
Quinn?    I  do.    Very." 

This  was  said  to  the  fingers.  I  did  not  reply  at 
once  and  she  looked  up  with  smiling  eyes  in  which 
I  thought  I  could  see  a  malicious  purpose.  It  was 
more  than  I  could  stand.  I  am  not  ashamed  of  admir- 
ing Rachel,  but  to  have  this  little  terror 

I  began  to  feel  my  way  in  order  to  lead  her  into 
labyrinths  where  she  would  lose  herself. 

"I  never  think  of  names  as  being  pretty  or  other- 
wise," I  answered. 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  am  susceptible.  If  I  thought  of  how 
pretty  names  are,  I  should  not  know  where  to  stop. 
Placed  as  I  am,  I  can't  face  the  racket.  I  have  to  go 
piano." 

"How  do  you  mean?    How  are  you  placed?" 

Nibb's  mouth  was  open  below  her  little  short  lip. 
She  gazed  at  me  with  eager  interest.  The  bow  of 
the  boat  slid  under  a  mass  of  blossoms  and  grounded. 


112  THOMAS 

I  shipped  the  oars  and  crawled  aft,  and  sat  beside 
her.  She  moved  to  make  room  for  me. 

"I  am  cooked,"  I  said  gravely,  looking  at  the 
pearl  set  in  brilliants  that  swung  from  her  ear  and 
trembled  against  her  neck.  Her  hat  was  cocked  up 
with  a  bow  under  it  on  my  side,  and  the  view  before 
me  could  well  bear  close  inspection.  Her  little  bones 
are  all  so  shapely,  and  there  is  a  faint  down  on  her 
cheek.  I  could  follow  the  perky  little  jut  of  her  chin. 
It  was  damnable.  I  could  have  drowned  her. 

She  looked  slowly  round  with  parted  lips  and  a 
serious  question  in  her  face.  Her  eyes  met  mine 
at  a  range  of  six  inches,  and  she  shut  up  her  mouth 
and  turned  away  her  head. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  she  said  with  a 
faint  smile,  fanning  her  hand  about  to  dry  it. 

"I  have  never  before  breathed  the  story,  but  I 
am  in  a  horrible  fix,"  I  said.  "It's  a  terrible  stew. 
I  can  rely  on  you  to  respect  my  confidence,  I  am 
sure." 

She  nodded  eagerly  and  glanced  round  at  me. 

"You  might  show  me  a  way  out." 

"Yes.     Quite  likely  I  might.    Oh,  do  tell  me." 

"Once,"  I  whispered  to  her,  "and  only  once,  I 
popped  it." 

"You  what!    Popped  it?" 

"Yes.  Popped  it  to  a  dear  lady — how  dear  that 
lady  was  I  need  not  say.  I  wrote  to  her — no  matter 
what  I  said — I  asked  her  hand." 

"Well?" 


I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL  113 

"She  hasn't  replied." 

"When  did  you  write?" 

"Rather  more  than  two  years  ago." 

"Two  years!     And  you  haven't  seen  her  since!" 

"Oh  lor,  yes;  lots  of  times." 

"Didn't  you  ask  her  whether  she  got  your  letter?" 

"Good  gracious!    No;  of  course  not." 

"But  why  not?" 

"Why  not!  Don't  you  realize  that  if  I  did  she 
would  want  to  know  what  was  in  it." 

"But  that  would  be  all  right.  If  she  never  re- 
ceived it  you  could  write  again." 

"Oh!  I  see  now  what  you  mean,  but  I  changed 
my  mind.  I  regretted  the  letter,  of  course,  the  mo- 
ment I  had  posted  it." 

Little  Nibbs  became  thoughtful.  Her  face  has  not 
a  very  pleasant  expression  when  you  catch  it  with 
the  mask  off.  After  a  pause,  she  said: 

"Either  she  never  got  the  letter  at  all,  or  she  must 
have  ignored  it  in  order  to  give  you  a  snub.  I  don't 
see  how  you  are  in  a  fix,  as  you  don't  now  feel " 

"My   difficulty   is   that   I   am  absolutely   cooked." 

"But  how?     It's  all  over." 

"No.  It's  only  beginning.  You  must  understand 
that,  though  I  dare  not  ask  her  outright,  I  can  tell 
quite  well  by  the  way  she  talks  that  she  has  never 
got  my  letter." 

"Well,  then,  it's  quite  all  right." 

"No;  it's  quite  all  wrong.  She  may  get  the  letter 
any  day." 


114  THOMAS 

"But  it's  lost." 

"Possibly.  But  I  posted  it  myself.  It  went  into 
the  Post  Office  all  right,  but  it  has  never  come  out. 
They  don't  call  it  lost.  The  Post  Office  never  loses 
a  letter.  They  call  it  'delayed  in  delivery/  It  has 
slipped  down  a  crack,  or  a  postman  put  it  inside  the 
lining  of  his  helmet  to  make  it  fit,  and  has  for- 
gotten. Didn't  you  see  in  the  paper  yesterday  that 
someone  had  received  with  his  morning's  letters  a 
card  that  was  posted  eleven  years  ago?" 

"Did  you  write  to  the  Post  Office  people?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  they  answer?" 

"By  return." 

"What  did  they  say?" 

"  'Dear  Sir  or  Madam. — We  have  the  honor  to 
acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your  communication  of 
the  1 5th  inst,  which  is  receiving  attention.' " 

"Was  that  all?" 

"No ;  I  wrote  again." 

"What  did  they  say  then?" 

"  'Dear  Sir  or  Madam. — We  have  the  honor  to 
acknowledge  your  communication  of  the  29th  inst., 
which  is  receiving  attention.' " 

"Did  you  never  hear  any  more  ?" 

"About  two  months  afterwards  they  wrote  saying 
that  they  had  been  quite  unable  to  trace  my  letter, 
and  thought  that  I  must  have  been  mistaken  in  think- 
ing I  posted  it?" 

"And  that  was  all?" 


I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL  115 

"That  was  all." 

"But,  even  now,  I  don't  see " 

"How  I'm  cooked?  Well,  I  cannot  go  back  on  my 
solemn  plighted  word.  If  in  years  to  come  that  letter 
is  delivered,  I  must  make  good.  I  can't  possibly  back 
out.  And  if  after,  say,  seven  years,  I  presumed  the 
letter  to  be  destroyed,  and  put  an  advertisement  in 
The  Times  disclaiming  all  letters  posted  more  than 
seven  years  ago  and  not  delivered,  how  could  I  even 
then  approach  the  idea  of  marriage?  How  could  I  tell 
the  lady  of  my  choice,  when  I  declared  myself,  that 
a  proposal  of  marriage  from  me  might  at  that  very 
moment  be  under  the  consideration  of  another." 

Little  Nibbs  was  pensive  and  smiling. 

"And  you  say  you  are  susceptible,   Mr.   Quinn?" 

I  took  my  chance  of  an  "Airy  Nothing  for  the  Ball- 
room." 

"I  do.  I  envy  that  little  bow  perched  so  daintily 
against  your  hair  close  to  that  shell-like  ear.  What 
secrets  would  I  not  whisper  were  I  so  near.  Oh, 
happy,  happy  little  bow !" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Quinn,  how  can  you  be  so  ridiculous?" 
She  wriggled. 

"No,  that's  not  right — I  mean — er — you  are  very 
kind  to  me  and  anticipate  my  feelings — er — exactly — 
I  mean  I  am — I  have  not  found  my  wings  as  yet. 
I  am  only  a  wretched  caterpillar,  don't  you  know." 

It  did  not  fit  in  properly,  but  little  Nibbs  was  de- 
lighted, and  laughed,  and  put  her  hand  over  her  ear, 
and  said  how  absurd  I  was,  and  appeared  to  be  in- 


116  THOMAS 

viting  more  remarks  of  the  same  kind,  when  she  sud- 
denly glanced  up,  seemed  to  recover  herself,  and  then 
began  waving  her  handkerchief. 

I  do  not  know  whether  she  did  this  to  save  her 
face  or  to  attract  the  attention  of  Rachel  so  that 
she  might  notice  our  romantic  situation,  wedged  up 
together  in  the  narrow  boat  among  the  blazing  blos- 
soms. It  was  Rachel  she  was  signalling  to,  however. 
She  and  Captain  Druce  had  come  into  view.  I  was 
glad  that  I  had  time  to  get  to  the  oars  and  push  the 
boat  out  before  they  saw  us,  and  I  made  an  excuse 
to  land  Miss  Nibbs  before  I  took  the  boat  in. 

A  very  little  of  Nibbs  goes  a  long  way  with  me. 

I  have  decided  to  clear  out.  I've  had  enough  of 
Hildon.  It  came  upon  me  at  breakfast  this  morn- 
ing that  I  would  like  a  change,  so  I  told  Mrs.  Graham 
that  I  should  have  to  go  tomorrow — so  many  visits 
to  pay,  etc.  etc.  Mrs.  Graham  has  been  kindness 
itself;  I  have  really  enjoyed  my  fortnight  here.  She 
said  she  hoped  I  would  come  again.  I  will  certainly 
think  it  over.  I  don't  feel  capable  of  arriving  at  a 
decision  just  at  present.  It  would  be  like  ordering 
tomorrow's  dinner  while  cracking  the  nuts  of  today's, 
and  that  is  true  in  more  ways  than  one,  for  there  is 
a  nut  for  me  to  crack  before  I  go. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  I  have  had  a  mix-up 
with  Rachel.  I  can't  go  until  I  have  patched  up 
some  sort  of  understanding  with  her,  or  it  might  spoil 
my  holiday.  I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  she  thinks 
of  me,  and  I  should  like  to  throw  Society  Deport- 


I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL  117 

ment  at  Nita's  wicked  head.  I  have  just  noticed  that 
my  copy  is  the  seventh  edition  and  that  it  is  dated 
thirty-six  years  ago,  but  even  so  the  flunkey  who- 
wrote  it  ought  to  be  dug  up  and  boiled.  I  can't  think 
how  I  came  to  make  such  an  ass  of  myself.  After 
the  way  Nibbs  wallowed  in  the  "Airy  Nothing  for  the 
Ballroom"  I  thought  I  might  venture  something  of 
the  same  sort  with  Rachel,  but  I  should  have  known 
that  it  was  not  the  sort  of  joke  she  would  care  about 
— though  in  point  of  fact  it  was  not  altogether  a 
joke,  and  I  thought  at  the  time  I  was  doing  it  ex- 
tremely well.  You  see,  I  think  a  tremendous  lot  of 
Rachel.  She  really  is  a  charming  little  thing.  I 
never  meant  any  harm,  yet  I  feel  like  a  whipped 
man,  and  I  can  do  nothing  but  hang  about  for  a 
chance  of  a  quiet  talk  with  her.  She  avoids  me 
and  will  not  let  me  catch  her  alone.  I  was  on  the 
prowl  all  yesterday  afternoon,  and  the  whole  of  this 
morning,  and  Mrs.  Graham  noticed  it  and  sent  out 
Bates  to  me  with  a  bit  of  cotton- wool  and  a  bottle 
of  Mumby*s  Pain  Killer.  She  thought  I'd  got  tooth- 
ache. Damn ! 

It  happened  yesterday  morning,  but  it  seems  like 
a  week  ago.  I  had  been  showing  her  how  to  throw 
a  fly.  There  are  no  trout  in  the  pool,  but  there  are 
plenty  of  small  rudd  that  rise  freely,  and  Rachel 
has  a  light  wrist  for  them.  We  had  been  having  a 
good  deal  of  fun,  and  she  was  standing  with  her 
plump  brown  fingers  trying  to  knot  her  cast,  and  I 
was  looking  on  over  her  shoulder,  when  I  said  it. 


118  THOMAS 

There  was  no  sort  of  harm  in  it.  The  worst  any- 
one could  say  would  be  that  it  was  idiotic,  or  that 
it  was  so  insincere  as  to  be  quite  the  reverse  of  com- 
plimentary. It  was  not  altogether  insincere,  but  what 
sticks  in  my  gizzard  is  that  she  should  suppose  that 
I  don't  know  better  than  to  say  things  like  that. 

She  did  not  make  any  sign  of  having  heard  me 
for  a  moment,  except  that  she  got  a  little  pink.  Then 
she  suddenly  looked  round  and  cried  "Yes,  Maud?" 
and  listened  as  though  she  had  heard  her  sister  calling 
her.  The  next  instant  she  put  the  line  quickly  into 
my  hand  and  ran  away  to  the  house,  and  it's  the  end 
of  my  comradeship  with  Rachel.  I  can  see  that. 

I  hardly  knew  what  had  happened  till  she  did  not 
come  back,  but  at  lunch  I  was  able  to  realize  the 
•extent  of  the  damage.  Instead  of  sitting  quiet  and 
observant  and  chipping  in,  as  is  her  wont,  she  kept 
tip  a  low-toned  conversation  with  her  sisters.  I  tried 
to  get  her  to  look  at  me,  but  she  wouldn't.  When  I 
addressed  her  and  compelled  an  answer  I  got  a  short 
one,  and  it  was  "Mr.  Quinn"  this,  and  "Mr.  Quinn" 
the  other,  and  her  eyes  were  all  screwed  up  into  the 
queer  defensive  smile  with  which  she  greets 
strangers. 

In  the  afternoon  she  was  always  somewhere  out  of 
sight  except  while  I  was  playing  tennis.  I  had  a 
five-set  match  with  Captain  Druce,  and  she  came  out 
and  looked  on  for  a  time.  I  did  my  best  to  take  down 
his  colors,  but  he  fairly  beat  me;  in  fact,  I  only 
scored  one  set,  and  that  one  the  first.  He  got  up 


I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL  119 

to  the  net  and  returned  everything.  It  was  like  trying 
to  pass  the  revolving  blades  of  an  aeroplane  propeller. 
I  can  well  believe  in  any  number  of  tigers  now. 
Killing  tigers  is  an  easy  job  compared  with  killing  my 
drives  down  the  side  lines.  He  made  me  look  per- 
fectly helpless,  and  of  course  Rachel  will  not  guess 
what  a  deadly  hand  he  is.  Oh  well,  this  time  to- 
morrow I  shall  be  miles  away. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  subdued  air  oppressing  the 
party,  as  though  I  were  a  naughty  boy,  or  else  I 
imagined  it,  for  my  tail  was  certainly  down  yester- 
day. Sir  Evelyn  Wyndacotte  and  his  daughter  dined 
here,  and  it  was  even  a  little  dull.  Nibbs,  of  course, 
was  all  over  the  place,  stuck  about  with  jewels  and 
rustling  very  much,  and  apparently  trying  her  best 
to  displace  Beatrice  Wyndacotte  in  the  esteem  of  her 
own  father.  The  old  boy  evidently  thinks  I  am  here 
on  the  matrimonial  lay.  As  we  sat  over  cigarettes 
in  the  dining-room,  he  commended  Mrs.  Graham  for 
her  "capacity  and  pluck,"  and  praised  the  girls  for 
being  so  "sensible."  I  don't  know  exactly  what  he 
means.  Why  shouldn't  they  be  sensible?  Of  course 
they  are!  Then  he  went  on  to  tell  me  gravely — as 
though  he  suspected  I  was  not  sound  on  the  subject — 
that  Maud  would  make  any  man  a  "splendid  wife." 
Of  course  I  assented,  though  it  was  a  new  idea  to 
me.  I  had  given  the  matter  no  thought  whatever, 
I  never  bother  my  head  about  what  sort  of  wife  any 
particular  girl  will  make  someone  else  whom  I  don't 
know. 


120  THOMAS 

"Eh?"  queried  Sir  Evelyn.    He  is  a  little  deaf. 

"Yes,  certainly.  I  quite  agree  with  you,  sir,"  I  told 
him  again. 

"A  most  excellent  wife,"  he  repeated.  "The  fellow 
who  gets  her  will  be  a  lucky  man." 

Of  course  old  Maud's  all  right,  I  know  that,  but 
I  don't  see  why  he  should  rub  it  into  me  that  she 
is  "sensible"  and  will  make  an  "excellent  wife." 
AVhen  I  get  a  wife,  if  I  ever  do,  I  want  to  feel 
sure  she  will  be  a  real  snorter,  so  that  we  can  kick 
up  our  heels  together  and  have  a  good  time.  I  cannot 
endure  the  thought  of  my  wife  crying  over  the  gro- 
wer's book — and  all  really  "excellent"  wives  do  that 
sometimes.  No;  the  very  last  thing  I  should  hope 
for  is  to  be  included  in  Sir  Evelyn  Wyndacotte's  list 
•of  "lucky  men."  I  want  to  go  on  being,  in  his  estima- 
tion, an  unlucky  one — "miserable  dog"  is,  I  believe, 
the  accepted  term.  Well,  I  want  to  remain  a  "miser- 
able dog."  Hurrah  for  the  "miserable  dogs"!  We 
are  a  happy  family, — and  so  say  all  of  us. 

I  don't  often  break  into  song  like  this.  I'm  getting 
a  bit  above  myself,  I  think.  I  cannot  forget  that 
my  favorite  "dog,"  among  all  the  miserable  ones,  will 
take  the  road  tomorrow  along  o'  Susan,  who  is  all  the 
wife  he  wants. 

I  have  had  it  out  with  Rachel,  more  or  less,  and  it's 
all  quite  right — or  nearly  so — so  far  as  I  can  see, 
I  mean.  She  is  a  little  trump,  of  course,  but  one  is 
apt  to  forget  she  is  scarcely  more  than  a  child  in 
some  ways.  She  is  so  independent,  competent,  and 


I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL  121 

generally  self-contained  that  one  instinctively  regards 
her  as  a  woman,  and,  in  a  sense,  one's  equal.  But 
she  is  not,  and  I  realized  this  when  I  came  to  tackle 
the  business,  and  it  made  it  difficult,  and  somehow  I 
did  not  put  things  as  clearly  as  I  had  intended.  I 
wanted  her  to  understand  that  I  could  appreciate  her 
feelings,  and  that  she  was  not  to  suppose  I  was  the 
sort  of  chap  who  said  such  things. 

As  Rachel  generally  appears  at  breakfast  through 
the  window  with  her  hat  on,  I  got  down  early  this 
morning  to  resume  my  prowl,  but  I  could  not  find 
her.  The  letters  were  brought  in  as  we  were  at 
table,  and  my  share  was  another  picture  postcard 
from  Bat — at  least,  I  cannot  imagine  who  else  would 
send  them.  This  time  the  subject  was  Miss  Bertie 
Farlow,  a  large  fluffy  beauty  with  very  showy  Jewish 
nostrils,  bilious  eyes,  and  a  secretive  smile.  I  slipped 
the  card  into  my  pocket  directly  I  saw  what  it  was, 
but  Rachel  was  passing  behind  my  chair  at  the  mo- 
ment and  I  think  she  must  have  had  a  glimpse  of  it. 
She  disappeared  after  breakfast,  and  soon  I  caught 
sight  of  a  distant  object  flashing  across  between  the 
trees,  and  had  to  realize  that  Ham  was  racing  off 
with  his  mistress  by  the  South  Lodge. 

It  was  not  till  the  afternoon  that  I  came  upon 
Rachel.  I  was  nursing  my  toothache,  as  Mrs.  Graham 
would  have  supposed,  when  I  fairly  caught  her  in  a 
remote  arbor,  reading. 

"I  wanted  to  find  you,  to  tell  you  how  annoyed  I 
am,"  I  said  at  once,  confronting  her. 


122  THOMAS 

"About  yesterday?"  she  asked  simply,  looking  up 
at  me  with  shoulders  stooping  over  the  book  on  her 
knees. 

"Yes.  What  you  must  think  of  me  I  don't  know, 
but  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  am  not  at  all  that  sort 
of  chap.  No  one  ever  heard  me  say  a  thing  like 
that  before — except,  of  course,  in  joke,"  I  added,  as  I 
remembered  Nibbs  in  the  boat. 

"I  thought  you  meant  it  as  a  joke,"  said  Rachel. 
She  was  sitting  up  now,  with  her  eyes  wandering 
over  the  ground.  While  I  spoke  she  stooped  and 
picked  up  a  pea  blossom  which  had  fallen  from  a 
handful  on  the  seat  beside  her. 

"Yes,  exactly;  so  it  was  a  joke,  in  a  sense;  but 
I  don't  make  jokes  like  that  to  girls  like  you.  It 
makes  me  feel  a  cad.  I  could  not  possibly  go  away 
without  explaining  things,  it  would  absolutely  ruin 
my  holiday." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that." 

"It  would  indeed.  I  am  not  exaggerating.  My 
holiday  would  be  spoilt.  I  think  you  are  simply 
splendid,  and  I  should  hate  to  go  away  and  feel  I 
had  given  you  a  bad  impression  of  me;  it  would 
make  me  feel  dreary,  because  I  am  not  at  all  the 
sort  of  fellow  you  think." 

"It's  all  right.  I  don't  mind.  I  only  thought  it 
a  little  odd." 

She  was  fingering  the  pages  of  her  book  now,  with 
her  head  bowed  so  that  I  could  not  see  her  face. 

"Odd!"  I  said.     "I  don't  know  that  I  should  call 


I  EXPLAIN  TO  RACHEL  123 

it  exactly  odd.  'Playful'  is  more  the  word  I  should 
choose — besides,  I  do  mind  very  much.  I  hate  upsets 
like  this.  I  like  everything  to  be  cheerful  and  gay, 
and  always  lots  of  fun,  especially  now  I  am  on  a 
holiday.  It  gives  me  the  blues,  you  know,  when 
things  go  wrong,  and  I  like  to  come  to  an  understand- 
ing at  once,  and  have  it  out,  and  put  things  right 
again.  I  want  you  to  realize  that  I  should  simply 
hate  to  have  things  out  of  joint  between  us." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  please  don't  think  about  it." 
She  glanced  up  for  a  moment,  smiling. 

"But  I  do  think  of  it,  I  want  things  to  be  as  they 
were  before  I — before  yesterday." 

"Well,  then,  they  are."    She  looked  up. 

"But  are  they?" 

"Yes,  of  course."  She  smiled  again.  "You  make 
too  much  of  it." 

"Do  you  mean  that?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"Well,  in  point  of  fact,  it  wasn't  exactly  a  joke 
— not  altogether;  I  meant  it — in  a  sense,  you  under- 
stand You  see,  it's  like  this — I  have  been  reading 
a  book — Well,  it's  difficult  to  explain,  but,  look  here — 
do  let  me  feel  that  everything  is  cleared  up  now." 

"I  agree,"  she  said,  glancing  up  with  a  smile. 

It  wasn't  quite  satisfactory,  somehow,  all  the 
same. 

"Well,  then,  shake,"  I  said. 

She  gave  me  her  hand  at  once,  dry,  soft,  and 
warm,  looking  at  me  with  her  eyes  shut  up  in  that 


124  THOMAS 

inscrutable  way  I  have  got  to  know  so  well  of  late. 
There  was  a  sort  of  glitter  in  them.  What  did  that 
mean? 

I  did  not  intend  to  hold  the  hand,  and  I  am  not 
aware  that  I  did  so,  but  she  certainly  pulled  it  out  of 
mine. 

"What's  the  time?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

I  told  her  it  was  twenty  minutes  past  three,  and 
she  jumped  up  with  a  show  of  dismay.  "I  must  go 
in,"  she  said. 

She  walked  rapidly,  and  talk  flagged  as  we  went 
up  across  the  lawns.  Then  she  suddenly  ran  on 
and  slipped  in  through  the  dining-room  window.  It 
is  characteristic  of  Rachel  to  pop  in  and  out  every- 
where all  day,  like  a  little  animal. 

Now,  when  at  the  beginning  of  my  explanation  I 
said,  "No  one  ever  heard  me  say  a  thing  like  that 
before,"  Rachel,  who  was  looking  at  me,  suddenly 
cast  down  her  eyes.  It  flashed  upon  me  that  Nibbs 
had  been  letting  on.  I  wonder!  It  would  be  just 
like  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SUSAN  LETS  ME  DOWN 

IT  rained  the  morning  I  left  Hildon  to  join  Aunt 
Elizabeth  at  Rork's  Drift,  but  the  sky  was  clear- 
ing as,  with  Susan  pumping  away  at  the  front  door, 
I  said  goodby.  The  ladies,  with  the  exception  of 
Rachel,  came  to  the  door  to  see  me  off.  Nibbs  was 
smilingly  to  the  fore ;  Bates  ministered  with  unneces- 
sary services  in  the  van ;  and  the  two  footmen  and 
the  midshipmen  loomed  dejectedly  in  the  back- 
ground. "Where  is  Rachel?"  Mrs.  Graham 
asked;  but  Rachel  was  not  to  be  seen,  and  I  felt 
pipped  as  Susan  slogged  heavily  down  the  drive  with 
a  bad  attack  of  dirty  commutator.  However,  when 
the  West  Lodge  came  into  view  there  was  Rachel, 
sure  enough,  waiting  for  me,  and  she  held  the  gate 
open.  She  had  evidently  planned  to  say  goodby  in 
seclusion,  so  to  speak,  but  I  don't  understand  how 
she  knew  that  I  would  leave  by  the  West  Lodge. 
It  was  quick-witted  of  her.  My  route  lay  by  the 
South  Lodge,  but  they  had  been  mending  the  high 
road  beyond  so  I  decided  to  go  round,  and  Rachel 

125 


126  THOMAS 

had  thought  it  all  out,  and  there  she  was.  She  seemed 
a  little  embarrassed.  I  could  understand  that  she 
did  not  quite  trust  herself  to  say  goodby  under  the 
eye  of  her  mother  and  Nibbs.  It  was  a  delicacy  of 
feeling  that  appealed  to  me.  I  cannot  quite  describe 
it,  but  I  felt  flattered.  I  admire  Rachel,  and  after 
our  little  turn-up — in  fact  I  admire  her  tremendously. 
She  had  her  golf  clubs,  so  she  must  have  come  right 
across  the  park  to  see  me.  I  pulled  off  my  glove  to 
shake  hands,  but  she  was  behind  the  gate  holding 
it  with  one  hand  and  her  golf  clubs  with  the  other,  so 
that  she  could  not  very  well  respond.  There  was 
nothing  particular  to  say,  and  I  felt  that  the  idea  of 
my  going  caused  her  regret  which  she  was  too  shy 
to  avow,  and  this  naturally  led  to  constraint  in  her 
manner.  She  pretended  to  look  radiant,  but  I  could 
not  see  her  eyes.  And  so  we  parted. 

She  had  on  the  turquoise  stockings  again.  It  is 
remarkable  she  should  have  known  that  I  admire 
them;  or  possibly  it  was  merely  an  instinctive  senti- 
ment that  made  her  wish  that  I  should  see  the  last 
of  her  in  the  dress  she  had  worn  when  we  first  began 
to  know  one  another.  If  I  were  an  artist  I  could 
touch  off  Rachel  to  the  life  as  I  saw  her,  the  little 
ruddy  brown  creature,  smiling  at  me  through  the 
bars  of  the  gate.  Just  as  I  said  goodby  I  caught 
sight  of  a  man  who  sometimes  carried  for  her  stand- 
ing with  another  bag,  so  I  suppose  she  was  going 
round  with  him,  though  I  had  no  idea  he  knew  the 
game.  I  was  tempted  to  stop  for  an  hour  and  take 


SUSAN    LETS    ME    DOWN  127 

her  on  myself,  but  I  had  a  long  journey  before  me, 
Susan  was  out  of  sorts,  and  I  was  late.  I  have  pretty 
well  decided  to  go  to  Hildon  again  before  my  holiday 
comes  to  an  end.  Mrs.  Graham  evidently  wished  me 
to  understand  that  I  should  be  welcomed. 

As  I  passed  the  Druce's  gate,  Captain  Druce  was 
hurrying  out.  He  was  absorbed,  thinking  of  tigers 
I  suppose,  and  rather  started  when  I  cheered  to 
him. 

I  don't  know  what's  coming  to  Susan.  She  behaved 
like  a  mule  that  day.  I  felt  inclined  more  than  once 
to  get  out  and  kick  her.  It  was  while  I  was  search- 
ing myself  all  over  for  something  which  would  cure 
Susan  that  I  found  a  sovereign  in  my  ticket-pocket, 
and  realized  that  I  had  tipped  Bates  with  a  lead 
counter  I  use  for  putting  into  the  butt  of  a  fly  rod 
to  balance  it.  The  odd  thing  is  that  I  think  Bates 
must  have  known  what  he  had  got,  for  he  certainly 
appeared  to  glance  at  it,  and  I  tried  to  catch  a  sign 
of  gratification  in  his  slab  of  a  face.  Perhaps  he 
thought  it  was  a  talisman  and  did  not  wish  to  show 
enthusiasm  until  he  had  tested  its  powers. 

Mrs.  Graham  and  the  rest  were  ranged  to  per- 
fection, banked  up  one  above  the  other  on  the  front 
steps,  for  a  clear  view  of  my  tipping  Bates.  I  tried 
to  get  him  to  come  round  to  the  far  side  of  Susan, 
so  that  we  should  be  partly  screened  from  view,  but 
the  donkey  would  not  tumble  to  it.  It  was  a  very 
awkward  job,  and  all  the  time  I  had  to  keep  up  a 
rally  of  chaffing  talk  with  the  ladies.  I  think  they 


128  THOMAS 

might  well  have  pointed  out  objects  in  the  sky  to 
one  another  or  found  some  other  excuse  to  relinquish, 
for  a  moment,  their  concentrated  gaze,  for  they  must 
have  seen  what  I  was  about.  I  tried  to  manoeuvre 
so  as  to  place  Bates  between  them  and  me,  but  he 
thought  he  was  getting  in  the  way,  and  we  did  a  kind 
of  dance  together  and  "set  to  partners"  on  the  gravel 
before  I  was  able  secretly  to  palm  the  counter  and 
push  my  hand  into  his  waistcoat  and  make  him  catch 
hold  of  the  thing.  I  must  send  him  a  postal  order. 

A  Guide  to  Tipping  would  be  a  most  useful  hand- 
book. The  only  rule  I  know  is  "a  bob  a  day  for 
the  house-servants,  with  a  shilling  under  the  door- 
mat for  the  cook";  but  this  will  not  work,  and  I 
never  put  anything  under  the  mat  for  the  cook  be- 
cause I  should  be  tortured  with  the  uncertainty  of  her 
finding  it; — unless  I  felt  she  was  looking  on  from 
some  secret  hiding-place  ready  to  pounce  directly  I 
retired,  and  then  I  should  have  to  go  into  hiding 
myself  and  watch  the  mat  to  make  sure  she  got  the 
money.  I  cannot,  however,  face  the  risk  of  being 
caught  by  my  hostess  playing  "peep-a-bo"  with  the 
cook. 

I  never  understand  the  attitude  of  the  master 
towards  the  tipping  of  his  servants.  I  should  be 
taken  aback  if  my  host  said  to  me:  "How  much  did 
you  give  the  footman  just  now?"  and  yet  he  cer- 
tainly can't  be  indifferent.  He  must  either  be  grati- 
fied to  know  that  his  footman  is  getting  extraneous 
nourishment  which  will  hearten  him  for  his  job,  or 


SUSAN    LETS    ME    DOWN  129 

he  will  dislike  the  idea  that  the  hospitality  he  extends 
to  his  friends  costs  them  in  tips  nearly  as  much  as 
the  amount  of  their  bills  at  a  hotel.  I  am  always 
ill  at  ease  when  I  become  aware  that  my  host  knows 
I  am  in  the  act  of  tipping  his  servants,  for  I  know 
that  the  reasons  which  prompt  me  are  not  such  as  I 
would  care  to  confide  to  him.  Take  the  case  of  the 
butler.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  the  wish  not  to 
be  under  obligations  to  the  poor  man.  One's  feeling 
of  gratitude  to  the  butler  must  be  changed  to  a  sense 
of  gratitude  due  from  the  butler.  That  is  certainly 
not  a  generous  sentiment.  In  the  second  place,  there 
is  the  desire  to  relieve  the  sedate  mournfulness  of 
the  butler's  life  and  reconcile  him  to  the  obscurity 
in  which  he  exists.  The  obscurity  of  a  butler  affects 
me  like  that  of  a  mole.  It  distresses  me  to  see  one, 
for  a  moment,  outside  a  house.  It  looks  foolhardy. 
My  idea  of  a  butler  is  a  man  who  does  not  possess 
a  hat.  The  modern  youthful  butler  is  a  different 
thing,  he  has  an  air  of  being  superior  to  his  job ; 
but  the  thoroughgoing  old-fashioned  butler  who  gives 
one  the  impression  of  being  a  butler  because  he  has 
been  one  too  long  to  even  think  of  leaving  off,  quickens 
my  compassion,  though  I  dare  not  let  my  host 
know  it. 

The  third  impulse  to  tip  the  man  could  least  of  all 
be  confided  to  his  master.  It  arises  from  the  cir- 
cumstances that,  quite  to  enjoy  a  visit  to  any  house, 
it  is  necessary  to  feel  sure  that  one  has  the  approval 
of  the  butler.  I  may  not  care  what  my  host  thinks 


130  THOMAS 

of  me,  for  perhaps  I  know  that  I  am  as  good  a 
man  as  he  is;  but  I  cannot  endure  the  idea  that  his 
butler  may  have  grounds  for  unfavorable  criticism. 
I  don't  know  any  finer  stimulus  to  polite  conduct 
than  to  be  up  against  a  good  butler.  That  man  would 
never  laugh  loudly  or  use  a  slang  expression.  I  watch 
the  butler  with  a  yearning  eye.  What  does  he  think 
of  me?  A  butler,  alone  of  all  men,  even  makes  me 
feel  a  little  ashamed  of  poor  old  Susan.  I  am  aware 
that  in  tipping  him  I  wish  to  give  him  the  idea  that 
I  have  a  contempt  for  money,  but  part  of  the  pleasure 
in  giving  a  large  tip  is  that  it  enables  me,  in  some 
way  I  do  not  understand,  to  feel  I  am  expressing  con- 
tempt for  the  butler  himself. 

Aunt  Elizabeth  lives  at  Ludlow,  so  that  there  was 
a  long  run  before  us,  and  owing  to  Susan's  ill- 
health  and  trouble  with  her  tires,  I  had  only  got 
as  far  as  Bromsgrove  by  half -past  seven.  I  ordered 
dinner  at  the  hotel  and  then  went  to  the  Post  Office 
to  wire  to  "Rork's  Drift,"  so  that  they  could  air 
the  sheets,  as  I  did  not  expect  to  arrive  before  ten- 
thirty.  I  was  told  that  it  was  doubtful  whether  the 
telegram  would  be  delivered  that  night,  but  at  any 
rate  it  would  look  polite  when  it  turned  up  at  break- 
fast, and  Aunt  Elizabeth  likes  people  to  be  polite. 

When  I  took  the  road  again,  however,  the  acetylene 
generator  blew  up,  as  it  sometimes  does.  This  led 
to  delay,  and  I  tried  a  short  cut  by  a  road  which, 
though  clearly  shown  on  the  map,  proved  difficult 
to  follow.  After  stopping  several  times  to  read  sign- 


SUSAN   LETS    ME   DOWN  131 

posts  with  a  match  burning  my  fingers,  I  got  at  last 
a  clear  direction.  Aunt  Elizabeth  is  a  formidable 
person  to  face  if  one  is  late.  She  does  not  say  much 
but  there  is  an  air  of  suppressed  vivacity  about  her  on 
those  occasions  which  has  always  terrified  me.  I 
never  feel  sure  that  she  will  not  hit  me.  I  still  be- 
lieved I  should  just  make  "Rork's  Drift"  by  eleven 
when  Susan  put  on  some  of  her  frills  and  knocked  the 
bottom  out  of  the  whole  enterprise. 

One  of  Susan's  little  ways  is  to  balk  on  a  stiff  bank 
if  the  petrol  is  low ;  and  she  will  not  budge  till  you 
have  filled  up  her  tank.  At  the  crest  of  a  steep  hill, 
in  a  wood,  eight  miles  from  Ludlow,  she  jibbed  in  this 
way.  As  the  road  was  narrow  I  let  her  run  back  to 
its  edge;  and  because  the  brakes  were  doubtful  I 
took  the  precaution  to  lodge  one  wheel  firmly  against 
the  bank.  There  was  a  strong  camber  to  the  road, 
and  it  had  been  also  partly  washed  out  at  the  side, 
and  this  cocked  her  up  still  more  with  the  result 
that,  when  I  had  given  her  the  emergency  tin  of 
petrol,  I  could  get  no  response  from  her  but  a  gasp 
and  a  back-fire.  After  working  away  with  the 
starting-handle  for  some  time,  like  an  organ-grinder, 
I  had  to  realize  that  I  was  fairly  landed.  I  could 
not  go  uphill,  and  the  bank  prevented  me  from  going 
down.  Susan  was  fast.  It  was  terrible  to  contem- 
plate one  who  five  minutes  before  had  been  full  of 
power  and  courage,  now  lying  silent  and  immovable. 
It  was  like  gazing  at  a  dead  elephant. 

While  I  was  turning  over  what  to  do,  a  man  in  a 


132  THOMAS 

trap  with  a  pretty  woman  beside  him  came  down 
the  hill.  I  asked  where  I  could  get  petrol  near  by. 
"Nowhere!"  Could  he  send  anybody  into  Ludlow, 
or  telephone?  "No,  he  couldn't."  He  was  quite 
friendly,  but  these  were  the  facts.  When  I  explained 
what  was  wrong,  he  said: 

"If  you  want  to  raise  the  level  of  the  petrol,  you've 
only  got  to  fill  up  the  tank  with  stones." 

The  brilliance  of  this  simple  suggestion  took  me 
aback.  I  thanked  him  warmly.  "Oh,  don't  mention 
it,"  he  said,  as  he  drove  on. 

I  have  since  suspected  that  this  man  was  Fred 
Yardley,  the  famous  comedian.  His  face  struck  me 
as  familiar  at  the  time,  and  I  now  think  it  must  have 
been  he. 

As  I  bustled  to  set  about  the  job,  I  wondered  why 
I  had  not  at  once  hit  on  the  idea  myself.  There  were 
plenty  of  loose  stones  at  the  side  of  the  road,  but 
it  occurred  to  me  it  might  be  a  tiresome  business 
getting  them  out  again.  Inspiration,  however,  haunts 
the  night  hours,  and  I  saw  that  if  I  pushed  a  cloth 
down  into  the  tank  while  holding  the  corners,  and 
filled  the  stones  into  the  bag  so  formed,  I  could 
afterwards  draw  up  the  cloth  and  bring  the  stones 
successively  within  reach  of  my  fingers. 

I  selected  one  of  Susan's  medium  wipes  for  this 
purpose.  Susan's  wipes  are  towels  which  my  mother 
has  "missed"  and  afterwards  written  off  as  "lost  in 
the  wash" ;  and  a  "medium  wipe"  is  a  towel  which 
is  about  half-way  through  its  career.  Susan's  wipes 


SUSAN    LETS    ME    DOWN  133 

begin  as  face-wipes,  and  their  course  is  run  when,  as 
brake-wipes,  they  at  last  begin  to  put  more  grease 
on  to  the  brakes  than  they  take  off.  Wipes  from  fair 
to  medium  are  graduated  for  various  uses  about  her 
body,  and  ranking  below  these  again  come  the  engine 
and  brake-wipes,  for,  one  way  and  another,  Susan 
takes  a  deal  of  wiping. 

It  was  a  pleasure  dropping  the  first  dozen  stones 
in  through  the  filling  eye — I  glowed  with  a  sense  of 
practical  efficiency;  but  after  the  second  dozen  the 
task  grew  monotonous.  It  was  troublesome  selecting" 
stones  in  the  darkness  of  the  wood,  and  before  the 
third  dozen  had  been  posted  I  felt  dreary  and  dis- 
heartened. I  realized  that  bucketfuls  of  stones  were 
wanted,  and  at  the  same  time  I  became  aware  that 
the  wipe  was  drawing  out  the  petrol  like  a  lampwick 
and  that  I  was  engaged  in  a  race  against  evaporation. 
Haste  was  necessary.  I  kicked  up  stones,  gravel, 
and  dirt,  and  poured  them  into  the  tank;  forced  the 
mass  fiercely  down ;  and  then,  without  hope,  wound 
away  at  the  starting-handle.  Susan  gave  one  thick, 
choking  cough  and  showed  no  further  signs  of  life- 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  take  the  stones 
out.  After  fumbling  in  the  dark  I  secured  one  small 
pebble.  I  got  impatient  over  the  second  pebble,  with 
the  result  that  the  wipe  split,  and  the  whole  of  the 
rubbish  fell  into  the  tank. 

I  may  say  here  that  many  of  the  stones  would 
only  pass  the  opening  at  particular  angles,  and  the 
man  who  next  day  had  the  job  of  getting  them  out 


134  THOMAS 

was  obliged  to  remove  the  tank ;  turn  it  upside  down ; 
lie  on  his  back  underneath  it  and  coax  the  stones 
out  on  to  his  face  with  special  probes  and  forceps 
adapted  to  the  various  shapes  of  each.  Every  stone 
presented  a  new  problem;  and  when,  after  two  days, 
the  job  was  finished,  he  possessed  an  outfit  that  would 
have  provoked  the  envy  of  a  dentist. 

After  one  more  futile  attempt  to  wind  up  the 
engine,  I  sat  down  to  reconsider  the  position.  It 
was  a  quarter  to  twelve  and  a  fine  starlight  night, 
and  it  did  not  take  me  long  to  decide  to  go  to  bed 
in  Susan.  I  turned  some  the  luggage  on  to  the 
front  seat,  pulled  down  the  hood,  and  curled  up  in 
a  nest  of  overcoats. 

The  birds  awoke  me  soon  after  three.  I  threw 
back  the  hood  and  languidly  contemplated  dawn 
breaking  in  the  forest.  It  was  rather  wonderful.  I 
had  never  had  the  experience  before.  It  was  as 
though  there  were  a  great  mystery  working  in  secret, 
and  it  was  astonishing  to  think  that  this  was  hap- 
pening every  morning,  and  all  day  long,  and  through 
countless  centuries.  It  suddenly  struck  me.  "What 
did  it  all  mean"?  I  asked  myself  "Why  is  a  tree?" 
Then,  "Why  am  I?"  Susan  seemed  out  of  it,  and 
yet  in  a  sense  she  had  life  too.  The  air  was  fresh, 
and  cool,  and  scented.  The  birds  were  all  cheerful, 
and  so  was  a  mouse.  Even  the  trees  were  happy  too, 
and  somehow  I  felt  overcome.  I  was  very  hungry, 
and  I  suppose  that  is  what  was  wrong  with  me. 

Then  I  saw  a  man  walking  down  the  hill  with  a 


SUSAN    LETS    ME    DOWN  135 

milk-pail  and  a  basket.  He  was  a  fine  stocky  little 
man.  He  might  have  been  a  little  younger  perhaps, 
but  otherwise  he  was  exactly  the  sort  of  man  I 
wanted. 

He  told  me  he  was  a  gardener.  To  explain  the 
milk-pail  and  basket  I  had  to  imagine  that  he  was 
a  gardener  on  the  track  of  his  "perquisites"  before 
anyone  was  about.  He  agreed  to  lend  me  a  hand 
and  we  took  the  things  out  and,  with  a  log  of  wood 
as  a  wheel-block,  we  got  a  good  purchase  on  the 
bank  with  our  feet,  and  inch  by  inch  just  managed 
to  work  Susan  out-and-across  the  road.  If  I  am 
ever  the  subject  of  a  post-mortem  examination  in. 
years  to  come,  my  friends  must  expect  to  be  told 
that  I  have  gone  through  life  with  a  cockled  heart, 
and  I  distinctly  heard  the  gardener  crack.  I  wound 
up  Susan,  packed  in  the  luggage  and  toys,  dropped 
the  gardener  and  a  florin  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill, 
and  arrived  at  "Rork's  Drift,"  all  serene,  at  4.20 
a.m. 

"Rork's  Drift"  is  a  "luxurious  family  residence 
with  carriage  drive  approach,  standing  in  its  own 
grounds  and  surrounded  by  tastefully  laid  out  gar- 
dens, comprising  lawns,  flower-beds,  shrubberies,  and 
noble  forest  trees,"  as  the  House  Agent  would  say; 
but  I  prefer  to  describe  it  as  an  abject  gabled  villa 
partly  redeemed  by  ivy  and  Virginia  creeper.  There 
is  a  drive  in  and  out  enclosing  shrubs  which  screen 
the  front  door  from  the  road ;  and  there  is  a  rectangu- 
lar strip  of  garden  running  along  the  hedge,  with  a. 


136  THOMAS 

lawn  big  enough  for  curtailed  croquet  and  a  fine 
•copper-beech  at  the  bottom.  The  house  was  probably 
huilt  at  the  time  of  the  Zulu  War,  and  was  named 
by  a  speculative  builder  trained  in  the  idea  that 
to  equip  it  for  the  market  every  villa  must  have 
the  name  of  a  bloody  battle  or  a  famous  general 
painted  on  the  gate. 

I  left  Susan  in  the  road,  where  I  could  keep  an 
eye  on  her  through  the  hedge,  and  went  down  the 
.garden  and  made  myself  comfortable  with  my  writing- 
pad  on  the  seat  under  the  copper-beech  until  such 
time  as  the  house  should  be  astir  for  breakfast.  I 
sat  in  full  view  of  the  dining-room  window,  and  I 
t»ecame  interested  to  observe  how,  and  by  whom,  I 
.should  be  first  recognized. 

A  clock  had  struck  six  before  I  noticed  blinds 
drawn  up  and  heard  a  door  open  somewhere,  and, 
soon  after,  a  black  Cocker  spaniel  came  rambling 
down  the  garden.  Aunt  Elizabeth  does  not  keep 
dogs,  but  this  was  an  old  one,  and  he  was  nearly 
"blind,  as  I  could  see  by  the  way  he  blundered  into 
the  croquet  hoops  as  he  ranged  over  the  lawn.  One 
of  the  boys  must  have  brought  him.  My  heart  warms 
to  the  Cocker  more  than  to  other  dogs.  He  has  no 
exaggerated  ideas  of  the  importance  of  rats,  and  no 
ambitions  that  are  not  proper  to  a  gentleman.  He 
appeals  first  as  being  a  humble  little  dog  and  a  gro- 
tesque one,  but  before  you  are  aware  of  it  you  have 
discovered  that  his  self-possession  and  doggy  equip- 
ment are  perfect,  and  that  his  beauty  is  a  thing  to 


SUSAN    LETS    ME   DOWN  137 

marvd  at  with  ever-renewed  wonder.  His  complete 
and  utter  blackness  may  seem  a  negative  merit  until 
you  notice  the  perfection  with  which  the  curves  and 
ripples  of  his  coat  are  arranged  to  clothe  his  small, 
burly  rotundities.  I  love  his  feathered  paws,  and  his 
little  clownish,  tailor-made  rump.  I  watched  this 
one  without  making  any  sign.  After  a  little  he  became 
aware  of  my  presence,  and  approached  me  with  his 
muzzle  up  until  he  stood  and  cautiously  advanced  his 
nose  to  within  an  inch  of  my  leg.  He  was  attentive 
for  an  instant  and  then  started,  as  though  he  had 
been  stung;  pressed  down  his  bit  of  tail;  trundled 
off  down  the  path  with  his  ears  turned  inside-out; 
bustled  round  the  corner  of  the  house  and  was  seen 
no  more.  It  was  not  a  generous  welcome.  It  was 
as  though  I  did  not  smell  right. 

Some  time  afterwards  I  noticed  two  maid-servants 
at  the  dining-room  window,  and  shortly  afterwards 
a  third,  and  a  few  minutes  later  two  maids  and  a 
figure  in  a  pink  dressing-gown  were  at  the  landing 
window.  I  kept  my  head  well  down,  and  waited  for 
Aunt  Elizabeth  to  open  the  window  and  call  to  me 
to  know  what  business  I  had  in  her  garden.  She 
did  not  do  so,  however;  but  after  further  movements 
at  the  window  and  considerable  delay,  a  young  man 
in  knickerbockers  and  dancing-pumps  came  down  the 
garden.  I  did  not  allow  myself  to  see  more  than 
his  legs,  and  remained  busy  with  my  writing.  He 
stopped  five  yards  off,  and  then,  to  my  astonishment, 
went  quickly  away  again.  A  few  seconds  later  a 


138  THOMAS 

strange  young  voice  addressed  me  from  a  distance. 
"I  say,  my  mother  says  what  do  you  want  in  our 
garden?" 

I  looked  up  and  saw  a  weedy  youth  of  washed- 
out  appearance  standing  in  sloppy  clothes,  his  hair 
loaded  with  grease  and  brushed  back  off  his  fore- 
head, a  loose  underlip,  and  eyes  like  a  hen.  His 
personality  was  so  colorless  that,  as  I  recalled  after- 
wards, it  was  I  who  led  in  expressing  astonishment 
and  in  cross-questioning  as  to  who  the  intruder  was, 
and  what  explanation  he  had  for  being  there.  I  gath- 
ered from  him  by  severely  pressing  my  questions  that 
his  name  was  Verscoyle,  that  he  and  his  mother  were 
living  at  "Rork's  Drift,"  and  that  Aunt  Elizabeth  had 
let  the  house  to  them  for  three  months  and  was 
herself  at  Bourncombe.  When  he  had  explained  these 
things  I  told  him  something  of  myself.  "Why  don't 
you  come  closer,"  I  said.  "Are  you  afraid  of  me?" 

He  smiled  weakly  and  approached  and  listened  to 
me  with  a  drooping  lip.  Just  then  Jelf,  the  occasional 
gardener,  came  on  the  scene,  and  he  was  able  to 
confirm  my  identity.  I  asked  the  sawny  to  carry 
my  apologies  to  his  mother  and  shook  his  limp  moist 
hand  at  the  gate.  Just  as  I  had  got  Susan  started, 
however,  he  came  out  and  mumbled: 

"I  say,  my  mother  says  won't  you  come  in  and 
have  some  breakfast." 

As  this  proposal  accorded  with  the  scheme  of  my 
tour,  and  my  consent  would  go  some  way  towards 
atoning  for  the  disturbance  I  had  occasioned,  I  ac-> 


SUSAN    LETS    ME    DOWN  139 

cepted,  and  brought  Susan  in  through  the  gate. 
In  the  hall,  my  companion,  in  response  to  an 
admonitory  voice  went  upstairs,  and  returning  to  me, 
said:  "My  mother  says,  would  you  like  to  change 
your  things?" 

I  found  breakfast  on  the  table  and  Mrs.  Verscoyle 
and  her  son  gazing  at  the  door  when,  half  an  hour 
later,  I  entered  the  dining-room.  The  lady  was  a 
tall,  stylish-looking  woman,  with  a  strong  cast  in  her 
right  eye.  Her  face  was  otherwise  rather  handsome 
— the  features  were  good ;  she  would  have  looked  well 
in  a  fireman's  helmet.  Her  graying  hair  was  strained 
back  from  her  forehead  and  her  skin  was  red  and 
rough.  She  kept  her  lips  compressed  and  oddly 
twisted  to  one  side,  and,  as  her  cast  favored  the  oppo- 
site direction,  she  looked  as  though  she  were  offering 
a  sour  kiss  to  someone  on  the  left  with  one  eye 
swiveled  round  to  make  sure  it  was  not  under  observa- 
tion from  the  right.  She  spoke  rapidly  in  a  shrill, 
querulous  voice  that  came  oddly  from  such  a  stalwart 
frame,  and  cut  short  my  apologies  for  intrusion  with 
a  cold  inclination  of  her  head.  It  was  soon  obvious  to 
me  that  her  sole  reason  for  inviting  me  to  breakfast 
was  to  complain  to  me  about  the  house.  She  cer- 
tainly was  quite  unconcerned  as  to  whether  I  got 
anything  to  eat.  They  seemed  to  think  they  were 
feeding  a  canary.  I  have  never  been  more  hungry 
in  my  life,  and  there  were  three  poached  eggs  in  an 
entree  dish:  one  for  the  sawny;  one  for  me;  and 


140  THOMAS 

the  third,  as  I  had  to  realize  with  bitter  resentment, 
for  "Mr.  Manners,"  as  we  used  to  say  in  the  nursery. 
There  was  nothing  else  to  be  got  at  except  some 
chips  of  toast  set  like  jewels  in  scraggy  little  toast- 
racks.  It  was  partly  light-headedness  due  to  ex- 
haustion, and  partly  the  impossibility  of  thinking  of 
anything  but  the  unattainable  poached  egg  chilling 
under  the  metal  cover  that,  I  suppose,  led  me  to  reply 
to  Mrs.  Verscoyle's  insistent  fretful  comments  on  the 
house  with  any  elusive  nonsense  that  came  into  my 
head.  The  lady  refused  altogether  to  accept  the  idea 
that  it  was  nothing  to  do  with  me.  She  seemed  to 
feel  that  I  was  a  relative  of  "Rork's  Drift,"  and  that 
an  account  of  its  defects  would  deservedly  hurt  me  in 
the  tender  parts  of  my  self-respect.  First  it  was  the 
bath. 

"I  am  afraid  you  could  get  no  hot  water  from  the 
tap.  The  range  won't  heat  the  water  at  all.  It's  im- 
possible to  have  a  hot  bath." 

"Have  you  pulled  out  the  damper?"  I  said.  "That's 
the  thing  to  do.  Some  cooks  even  throw  them 
away." 

"It's  always  out.  If  we  push  it  in  the  range  smokes," 
the  mother  said  tartly,  and  the  weed  smiled  and 
glanced  at  me  with  his  lips  pushed  out  flinchingly 
towards  the  hot  edge  of  his  cup. 

"We  are  disappointed  with  the  house.  There  is 
too  much  furniture  and  it  harbors  dust.  Nice  for 
my  hay-fever!  It  must  be  very  damp  here  in  the 
winter.  The  house  smells  damp.  We  have  dis- 


SUSAN  LETS  ME  DOWN  141 

covered  a  horrid  smell  in  the  cupboard  under  the 
stairs." 

"Isn't  it  rather  a  mistake  to  search  for  smells?"  I 
commented. 

"We  can't  imagine  what  it  can  be,"  Mrs.  Verscoyle 
complained. 

"But  as  long  as  they  stay  in  their  cupboards,  and 
don't  come  out"  ...  I  was  continuing. 

"We  naturally  want  to  know.  It  may  be  the  drains, 
though  I  distinctly  understood  that  the  drains  had 
been  tested.  I  myself  had  the  water  thoroughly 
analyzed." 

"Was  it  improved?" 

My  hostess  looked  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  fool, 
instead  of  a  man  dying  of  hunger. 

"The  analysis  looked  dreadful,  but  the  man  said 
it  was  an  average  water  and  fairly  safe  for  drinking 
purposes  if  carefully  filtered." 

"It's  not  so  nourishing,  of  course,  if  you  filter  it." 

"We  always  drink  filtered  water.  We  were 
astonished  to  notice  how  small  the  filter  was  here. 
We  have  had  to  hire  a  larger  one,  and  some  fire 
buckets.  We  are  in  terror  of  fire.  There  is  no 
fire  escape." 

"Some  people  think  them  very  dangerous  things," 
I  said.  "I  know  a  lady  who  left  her  hotel  at  ten 
o'clock  at  night  because  she  had  seen  a  fire  escape." 

Mrs.  Verscoyle  appeared  to  turn  this  over  in  her 
mind  as  she  eyed  me  for  a  moment.  Then  she  went 
on  rapidly,  "We  cannot  make  the  scullery  tap  stop 


142  THOMAS 

running  and  the  floor  is  always  splashed  and  wet  in 
consequence.  Charles  saw  a  mouse." 

Charles  nodded  to  me  gravely. 

"Servants  take  them  about  with  them  in  their 
boxes,"  I  explained. 

"Good  gracious !  I  am  sure  none  of  my  servants 
would  do  a  thing  like  that." 

"It's  not  the  servants  who  do  it;  it's  the  mice," 
I  told  her.  "They  climb  in  after  the  candles  and 
groceries." 

Mrs.  Verscoyle  looked  at  the  teapot  and  moved  a 
little  in  her  chair,  then  she  seemed  to  recollect 
herself. 

"I  never  saw  anything,  anywhere,  to  equal  the  flies 
in  the  kitchen." 

"When  Sir  Edmund  Wilson  was  alive,"  I  told  her, 
"he  would  not  allow  a  fly  in  his  kitchen.  The 
result-  was  there  were  no  spiders,  consequently  no 
cobwebs." 

"How  did  he  keep  them  out,  pray." 

"With  a  Maltese  cook." 

"But  I  don't  understand." 

"Maltese  thoroughly  understand  flies,"  I  explained, 
"and  Sir  Edmund  thoroughly  understood  Maltese. 
He  told  his  cook  that  if  he  ever  found  a  fly  in  the 
kitchen  he  would  make  him  swallow  it." 

All  this  time  I  was  doing  the  best  I  could  for 
myself.  I  did  not  dally  with  the  viands.  I  ate  the 
cargo  of  a  special  rack  of  toast  almost  before  the 
servant  who  brought  it  had  left  the  room.  I  couldn't 


SUSAN  LETS  ME  DOWN  143 

help  it.  I  saw  two  bananas  in  a  plate  on  the  side- 
board. It  was  awful.  I  gave  my  hostess  the  earliest 
opportunity  of  rising. 

As  we  passed  towards  the  hall,  the  lady  suddenly 
opened  a  door  and  said : 

"This  is  the  smell  I  spoke  to  you  about,  Mr. 
Quinn !" 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been  formally  in- 
troduced to  a  smell.  I  would  describe  this  one  as  a 
tall  pink  smell,  probably  a  mixture  of  naphthalin  and 
goloshes. 

"Surely  it's  a  bad  smell?"  she  complained. 

"That  entirely  depends  on  whether  you  like  it  or 
not,"  I  said. 

"We  don't  like  it  at  all.  It  can't  be  wholesome.  I 
must  do  something." 

"It's  not  my  smell,"  I  told  her.  "It  belongs  to  Lady 
Wilson.  She  may  value  it,  and  if  you  interfere  with 
it  you  may  spoil  it." 


Exactly  an  hour  later  I  stretched  myself  on  the 
lounge  in  the  entrance  hall  of  the  Three  Feathers. 
My  complaint  was  so  obvious  that  everyone  who 
went  in  or  out  of  the  hotel  gazed  at  me  and  smiled 
lingeringly.  I  was  absolutely  prostrated  with  bliss. 
I  had  had  breakfast. 

When  I  sat  down  I  told  the  waiter  I  wanted  one 
double-breakfast.  Mrs.  Verscoyle's  breakfast  had 
provoked  my  hunger  to  such  a  pitch  that  I  was  almost 


144  THOMAS 

in  tears.     My  performance  was,   I   feel,  worthy  of 
record : — 

QUINN'S  DOUBLE  BREAKFAST 

THREE  FEATHERS,  LUDLOW,  July  2gth. 
Bacon  and  (2)  eggs. 
Tea — toast. 
Cold  beef  and  ham,  while  awaiting  the 

appearance  of: — 
Bacon  and   (2)   eggs. 
Another  teapot  and  toast. 
Cold  ham. 

Another  go  of  cold  ham. 
Bread,  butter,  marmalade,  e*c. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MR.     BERT     SUTHERLAND     BOUNDS     INTO     THE     ARENA 

IT  is  a  week  since  I  last  wrote.  I  am  sitting  in 
the  sun  on  the  beach  at  Bourncombe  with  a 
near  view  of  the  white  cliffs  and  brown  seaweed  of 
Shelly  Head.  Nita  is  a  little  way  below  me  to  the 
left,  with  a  towel  over  her  shoulders  and  her  russet 
hair  spread  out  to  dry.  I  have  told  her  that  I  object 
to  these  outrages  on  the  privacy  of  the  toilet.  She 
is  reading,  I  think,  and  every  now  and  then  a  pebble 
falls  on  the  beach  near  her  (one  did  just  then),  and 
she  glances  about  dubiously  as  though  she  suspected 
someone  was  throwing  stones  at  her.  It  can't  pos- 
sibly be  me,  for  Nita  can  see,  when  she  looks  round, 
that  I  am  writing.  The  most  guilty-looking  person  is 
an  old  gentleman  who  is  lying  on  the  beach  idly 
playing  "knuckle  bones"  with  some  pebbles.  He  has 
begun  to  notice  that  Nita  keeps  glancing  round  at 
him.  Oh,  it's  a  pleasant  life! 

Ferdinand  and  his  "fiance"  (as  they  call  it  in 
America)  are  "somewhere  about."  They  are  always 
"somewhere  about."  Aunt  Elizabeth  has  made  her- 
self comfortable  on  a  camp  stool  under  a  groin,  in  a 

145 


146  THOMAS 

shady  black  hat  with  a  scrap  of  white  in  it,  for  the 
dear  old  thing  always  keeps  the  flag  flying.  At  this 
moment  she  is  looking  up  from  her  book  and  re- 
garding the  approach  of  a  monkey  in  a  red  frock 
with  severe  disapproval.  If  the  monkey  is  as  dirty 
as  the  boy  with  the  accordion  appears  to  be,  I  can 
sympathize  with  her.  The  old  lady  always  insists 
on  looking  after  herself  and  is  equal  to  all  occasions. 
At  a  few  words  from  her  the  boy  jerks  the  monkey 
— who  has  a  wary  hand  on  his  lead  to  prevent  his 
head  being  pulled  off —  to  his  shoulder,  and  turns 
away;  on  which  Aunt  Elizabeth  relents  and  gets  out 
her  purse  and,  still  warning  him,  sternly  throws  two- 
pence to  the  winds,  and  then  is  dreadfully  concerned 
lest  he  should  not  find  both  coins,  and  is  actually 
getting  out  another  penny  when  the  boy  makes  good, 
and  grins,  and  touches  his  hat. 

Yes,  it's  a  pleasant  life  here  in  the  sun ;  one's  skin 
tingling  after  a  bath;  the  cool  air  invading  one,  all 
over,  through  thin  flannels ;  no  cares,  and  with  a  good 
hairbrush  and  a  buck  lunch  to  look  forward  to  in  an 
hour's  time.  Since  I  came  to  Bourncombe  I  have 
discovered  that  I  am  an  eupeptic:  before  I  have  fin- 
ished one  meal  I  am  thinking  of  the  next. 

Aunt  Elizabeth  has  a  charming  little  house  in  the 
old  town,  with  a  shady  walled  garden  from  which, 
over  a  neighboring  orchard,  one  looks  out  on  the 
swelling  bosom  of  the  South  Downs.  A  blank  gable 
of  the  house  flanks  the  road,  and  you  enter  through 
a  postern  in  the  garden  wall  which  opens  magically 


MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND  147 

to  the  visitors  by  virtue  of  a  wire  operated  in  the 
front  hall. 

Aunt  E.  pretended  to  be  slightly  rumpled  and  made 
little  complaining  noises  on  coming  home  to  dinner 
and  finding  Susan  piled  with  luggage  in  the  street 
outside  and  me  in  the  garden  with  the  Morning  Post. 
The  whole  party  had  been  out  picnicking,  and  the 
first  notice  I  had  of  their  arrival  was  Aunt  Elizabeth's 
voice  without,  asking  in  stern  tones  of  the  world 
at  large,  "Why  is  that  car  standing  out  here?" 

Nita  greeted  me  in  rather  an  off-hand  manner  I 
thought,  and  she  said  airily  to  Miss  Hornby,  Ferdi- 
nand's fiancee,  whom  I  had  never  seen  before,  "This 
is  Thomas,"  and  then  laughed.  The  young  lady 
greeted  me  in  a  particular  way  with  a  warm  hand- 
shake, as  though  she  were  welcoming  me,  instead  of 
allowing  me,  as  a  member  of  the  family  she  was 
marrying  into,  to  welcome  her.  It  is  evident  that 
Nita  has  been  talking  about  me  to  Myra.  I  wonder 
what  she  has  been  saying  1  Myra  is  all  right,  how- 
ever. She  is  really  a  capital  «ort.  She  is  a  tall,  strap- 
ping young  woman,  dark,  with  a  wide  mouth  and  an 
engaging  grin,  and  a  fine  open  face  and  large,  glowing 
brown  eyes  under  thick  wide  brows.  She  dresses  in 
rather  a  flowery  style,  so  that  at  first  shock  she 
appears  a  dazzler  and  rather  takes  one's  breath  away ; 
but  one  soon  realizes  that  her  beauty  is  of  a  homely 
kind,  and  she  really  is  capital  company.  Her  slow, 
mirthful  contralto  tones,  and  her  calm  deep-bosomed 
laugh,  give  a  quality  to  the  company.  One  misses 


148  THOMAS 

her  at  once  when  she  is  out  of  the  room.  Ferdinand 
seems  rather  overawed,  as  if  he  were  not  yet  used 
to  having  achieved  Myra.  He  is  reserved  and  pre- 
occupied, and  is  not  half  the  good  fellow  he  used 
to  be.  I  can't  get  him  for  golf  or  tennis;  he  spends 
his  time  hanging  about:  in  fact  he  is  making  rather 
an  ass  of  himself,  I  think.  Nita  seems  to  have  be- 
come like  a  sister  of  Myra,  although  they  only  met 
a  fortnight  ago.  They  are  continually  to  be  seen 
twined  together,  Nita  looking  like  a  slip  of  a  girl 
beside  the  majestic  Myra,  although  she  herself  has 
the  lines  of  a  stately  woman.  Myra  is,  in  fact,  too 
big  for  Ferdinand.  She  looks  as  though  she  could 
easily  break  his  back — and,  from  what  I  hear  of 
married  life  from  confidential  sources,  she  will  prob- 
ably want  to  break  it  some  day.  One  can  only  hope 
she  will  have  enough  self-control  to  hold  her  hand 
when  that  hour  comes. 

There  is  no  room  for  me  at  Aunt  E.'s,  so  I  have 
a  bedroom  at  Mrs.  Willand's  hard  by.  Everyone 
knows  Mrs.  Willand's,  though  I  don't  know  why, 
unless  it  is  by  virtue  of  the  notoriety  of  a  despond- 
ing stuffed  dog  in  her  front  window.  It  looks  like 
an  exhibit  from  the  Veterinary  Museum  under  the 
catalogue  title  "Sarcoptic  Mange  (advanced)."  The 
house,  which  is  one  of  a  long  line  of  villas  like  a 
row  of  postage  stamps,  is  known  as  "Mrs.  Willand's," 
and  my  address  is  "Mrs.  Willand's,  Old  Bourn- 
combe."  It  is  here  that  a  much  battered  and  post- 
marked official  envelope  has  reached  me.  I  repro- 


MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND  149 

duce  the  document  as  completed  with  my  reply: — 

Ref.  P.T.  ^ 

DOUBLE  MINUTE 


Margins  must  on  no  account  be  written  upon  except 
as  regards  brief  penciled  notes.  All  communications 
must  be  addressed  to  the  Department  and  not  to  in- 
dividuals. 

2$th  July,  19 — 

H.M.  Statistics  Office,         To :  Mr.  Thomas  A.  Quinn 
(Malnutrition  Dept.) 
Whitehall,  London, 
S.W. 


COMMUNICATION 

Date:   3rd  August,    19.. 
Sir, 

1.  I  have  the  honor  to 
call  your  attention  to  the 
circumstance  that  accord- 
ing to  the  records  of  this 
Department,    your    leave 
which  commenced  on  the 
2$th  June,  terminated  on 
the  2yd  July  ult. 

2.  It  does  not  appear 
that  you  have  attended  at 
this    Office    or   that   any 


REPLY. 
Date:  loth  Aug.,  19 — . 


i.  It  appears  that  there 
is  an  error  in  the  records. 
Reference  should  be  made 
42 

to  P.  X.  F of  4/6. 

S 

T.  Q. 


150 


THOMAS 


communication   has   been 
received  from  you. 

3.  I  have  to  request 
that  I  may  receive  your 
observations  on  this  mat- 
ter without  delay. 

I  have  the  honor  to 
be, 

Sin 
Your    obedient    Servant, 

F.  C.  Binkinter. 
Deputy     Comptroller     of 

Staff  Records,  H.M.S.O. 


»/P  S2  for 


P.S. 

Also  try 
solution, 

N3i 

How  goes  it  B.,  you  old 
blighter? 


•My  postscript  was  one  of  those  "Brief  Penciled 
notes"  specially  provided  for  in  the  instructions.  It 
would  be  good  fun  to  see  old  Binkinter  trying  to 
exact  the  cube  root  of  one  of  his  own  file  references. 
They  have  evidently  sent  me  a  reminder  intended 
for  someone  else. 


When  I  went  back  to  the  Pond  House  after  putting 
up  the  car  at  the  inn  and  changing  my  clothes,  II 
found  Nita  walking  in  the  garden. 

I  joined  her  where  she  stood  passing  in  review 
the  roses  that  straggled  over  the  old  sunburnt  brick 
wall. 

"Well,"  she  said  as  I  came  up,  while  she  reached 
for  a  bloom.  "How  is  Valerie?" 


MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND  151 

She  was  certainly  very  off-hand  in  her  manner. 
"Quite  well,"  I  said.  "Except,"  I  added,  "she's  got 
mumps; — you  knew  that?" 

"Mumps!"  Nita  turned  and  stared  at  me  with 
parted  lips  and  laughing  eyes.  "Is  that  why  you 
came  away  then?" 

"No.     She  had  them  when  I  arrived." 

"Then  you  never  saw  her?" 

"Only  in  the  distance.  She  didn't  want  me  to 
see  her." 

Nita  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter,  and  turned  and 
walked  towards  the  house.  "Oh,  how  lovely!"  she 
cried,  and  she  reeled,  and  fell  up  against  me  in  an 
uncontrollable  spasm  of  gurgles. 

"I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  laugh  at,"  I  said,  pre- 
tending not  to  be  amused  and  pushing  her  away  from 
me.  "Why  are  you  so  interested  in  Valerie  all  of  a 
sudden?  You  have  never  even  seen  her." 

"Oh  dear!"  Nita  gasped  when  she  had  recovered 
herself  a  little.  "If  you  had  only  heard  your  mother, 
you'd  be  laughing  too."  She  became  inarticulate 
again. 

"Aunt  Emmy  thinks  you  have  been  making 
love  to  Valerie  all  this  time — she  doesn't  say  so,  but 
one  knows  what  is  in  her  mind.  Oh  dear!" 

"Why  does  she  think  that?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  She  wants  to  think  it,  I  sup- 
pose. She  showed  me  a  letter  of  yours  in  which  you 
mentioned  Maud  and  Rachel  but  did  not  refer  to 
Valerie.  That  was  conclusive  proof  for  Aunt  Emmy. 


152  THOMAS 

She's  expecting  to  hear  of  your  engagement  by  every 
post.  Oh,  it's  too  delicious." 

"Now  then,  you'll  be  late.  Supper's  on  the  table," 
said  Aunt  Elizabeth  from  the  window  in  an  admoni- 
tory tone  as  though  she  disapproved  of  laughter, 
though,  in  point  of  fact,  she  loves  to  hear  young  people 
about  her;  and  we  followed  her  into  the  dining-room 
where  the  free  and  easy,  movable,  holiday  meal  was 
awaiting  us. 

Nita  was  still  laughing  when  we  sat  down. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Aunt  E.  She  had  not 
quite  regained  suavity  after  the  disturbance  of  my 
invasion. 

"Valerie  Graham  has  got  mumps,"  Nita  splut- 
tered. 

"I  don't  see  anything  to  laugh  at  in  that,"  said  the 
old  lady  severely.  "Who  told  you?" 

Nita,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth,  pointed 
at  me. 

"Good  gracious,  I  hope  you're  not  bringing  infec- 
tion here,"  said  Aunt  Elizabeth,  in  an  alarmed  tone. 

"It's  all  right,"  I  said.  "It's  only  a  joke.  No  one 
was  ill  at  Hildon." 

"Not  a  very  pretty  joke,"  the  old  lady  commented. 
"I  hope  you  won't  make  such  jokes  here." 

Nita  looked  at  me  seriously  for  a  moment,  and 
then  smiled  and  subsided  with  a  final,  "Oh  dear!" 

After  supper  it  came  out  that  the  two  "fiances" 
were  going  down  to  the  sea  front,  so  I  asked  Nita 
to  come,  and  we  would  all  run  down  in  Susan.  Nita 


MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND  153 

said  she  would  stay  with  Aunt  Elizabeth,  but  the 
old  lady  affected  to  be  indignant  at  the  idea  that 
she  could  not  be  left  alone,  although  in  fact  she 
values  these  little  attentions ;  so  finally  we  all  four 
went,  and  Nita  and  I  sat  on  the  shingle,  while  the 
other  two  strolled  up  the  slope  of  Shelly  Head. 

It  was  pleasant  having  a  yap  with  Nita  again.  I 
told  her  the  incidents  of  my  tour  while  the  moon  tried 
to  give  the  appearance  of  night  to  what  was  very  like 
day,  and  the  waves  laved  the  pebbles  with  little  short 
"plops"  like  the  sound  of  rising  trout.  After  a  time 
Nita  got  quite  serious  for  her.  She  said  she  was 
thinking  of  going  back  to  Australia.  It  is  all  rather 
hard  luck  on  her.  She  married  poor  Bill  when  he 
was  on  the  Sydney  station,  and  followed  his  ship 
home,  and  since  the  accident  a  few  months  later  (a 
bag  fell  on  the  poor  chap  when  they  were  coaling 
ship),  she  has  been  staying  about  or  living  in  rooms, 
but  all  her  own  people  are  in  Australia.  She  rather 
dreads  going  back ;  I  can  see  that.  She  has  a  slender 
purse,  and  it's  a  rough  and  tumble  world,  though  she 
is  so  bright  no  one  would  ever  think  she  had  any 
troubles.  That's  the  best  of  having  a  sunny  tempera- 
ment. It's  just  the  same  thing  with  me.  She  seemed 
tired  when  we  got  home,  and  we  found,  when  we 
wanted  her,  that  she  had  slipped  away  to  bed.  I  am 
getting  to  find  out  that  she's  a  queer  girl  at  bottom. 
This  is  what  happened  yesterday,  for  instance. 

Nita  goes  in  for  playing  the  piano,  though  she 
doesn't  play  for  me  because  she  thinks  I  don't  care 


154  THOMAS 

for  it;  but  that's  all  rot;  I  am  very  musical,  really. 
Nita  plays  in  a  light  feathery  sort  of  way  and  never 
punches  the  piano  properly.  Myra,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  a  masterful  style,  and  I  gather  that  Nita 
looks  upon  her  as  a  corker,  and  they  have  matches 
one  against  the  other.  Myra  lets  fly  with  a  little  thing 
by  Podderblitz,  and  Nita  retaliates  with  a  trifle  by 
Bumblepootz  that  takes  twenty  minutes,  and  so  they 
are  at  it,  tit-for-tat,  through  half  an  afternoon.  You 
can't  talk  when  Nita  is  playing,  or  it  would  interrupt ; 
and  you  can't  hear  yourself  speak  when  Myra  is  on 
the  job. 

Well,  yesterday  after  lunch,  Ferdinand  had  gone 
to  the  village  and  left  me  in  the  garden,  when  I 
heard  the  piano  and  went  to  the  drawing-room  win- 
dow. It  was  Myra's  turn,  and  as  usual  she  was 
letting  Aunt  Elizabeth's  piano  have  it  in  the  neck 
every  time,  while  Nita  was  lying  back  in  a  chair  evi- 
dently much  enraptured.  In  order  not  to  disturb 
them  I  sat  down  outside  on  the  window-sill,  and 
listened.  It  was  all  a  distressing  rush  and  clash  of 
wrong  notes,  with  no  time  and  no  tune ;  and  then  the 
din  suddenly  ended  with  a  sort  of  change  of  tone  that, 
in  fact,  rather  took  by  breath  away.  Myra's  back 
was  towards  me  and  when  she  ended  she  sat  motion- 
less with  her  hands  on  the  keys  for  a  moment,  and 
then  began  to  get  out  her  handkerchief.  At  the  same 
moment  Nita  rose  and  went  to  her,  and  put  her  arms 
round  her,  and  kissed  her.  I  had  just  realized  that  I 
had  no  business  to  be  present,  when  Nita  caught 


MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND  155 

sight  of  me  and  looked  at  me  gravely,  and  slightly 
shook  her  head,  and  I  stole  away. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  when  we  had  all  gone  on 
to  the  pier  where  the  picket  boats  from  a  battleship 
outside  were  coming  and  going,  I  said  to  Nita: 

"What  was  wrong  with  Myra  this  afternoon?" 

She  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  She  stood  with 
one  knee  on  the  seat  gazing  down  into  the  beautiful 
pinnace  that  sidled  and  flirted  against  the  weed- 
covered  piles.  After  a  little  she  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"The  music  made  her  cry." 

"Why?    Isn't  she  happy?" 

Again  Nita  did  not  answer  at  once.  I  was  look- 
ing at  her  and  her  color  seemed  to  mount,  and  she 
closed  her  eyes.  Then  she  stood  up  and  looked  me 
in  the  face  and  said  quietly  but  in  rather  a  breath- 
less voice : 

"It  was  because  she  is  happy.  Can't  you  understand 
that?" 

"I  can't  understand  anyone  crying  about  such  music, 
unless  it  couldn't  be  made  to  stop,"  I  said. 

Nita  almost  frowned  at  me.  She  faced  me  with 
indignant  eyes.  Then  she  spoke  impetuously  in  her 
quick,  bubbling,  port  wine  tones. 

"Are  you  never  going  to  grow  up?  Don't  you 
realize  that  you  are  blind,  and  deaf,  and  dumb? 
What's  the  good  of  a  man  if  he  is  never  going  to 
understand !" 

She  really  is  an  extraordinary  woman.  I  don't 
see  that  I  had  said  anything  dreadful  and  what  she 


156  THOMAS 

meant  goodness  only  knows,  but  she  spoke  with 
vehemence.  I  had  no  idea  she  could  show  so  much 
feeling.  I  was  taken  aback;  naturally. 

"I  simply  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about," 
I  said.  "All  I  mean  is  that  the  music  had  no  time, 
and  no  tune,  and  was  half  wrong  notes." 

Nita  laughed  and  we  walked  on  together. 

"Oh,  you're  not  a  bad  sort,"  she  said.  "There 
is  no  reason,  I  suppose,  why  you  should  like  a  fugue 
of  Bach's ;  and  if  you  could  only  make  allowances 
for  people  to  whom  such  things  are  like  a  ray  from 
heaven,  there  would  be  some  hope  for  fat  Thomas." 

"Fat!" 

"Yes,  fat!" 

"Well,  I'm  really  glad  you've  said  that,"  I  told 
her.  "Thank  you,  Nita.  I  could  not  broach  the  matter 
myself,  but  now  you  have  introduced  the  subject  I 
can  go  ahead  and  tell  you  a  thing  that  has  been 
much  on  my  mind.  Tell  me:  have  you  looked  in 
the  glass  lately?" 

"Yes.     Why?" 

"Since  I  came  down  here?" 

"Yes,  of  course  I  have." 

"And  haven't  you  noticed  anything?" 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean.  What  should  I 
notice  ?" 

"Look  here,  old  lady,  you  can't  carry  it  off  like 
that.  You're  getting  simply  enormous.  You're  like 
a  ripe  gooseberry.  I  never  saw  such  a  girl.  You 
look  as  if  you  had  just  been  pumped  up." 


MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND  157 

This  was  perfectly  true.  I  suppose  the  sea  air  suits 
Nita,  for  she  has  quite  plumped  out  and  looks 
bonny. 

Nita  received  my  communication  with  an  uneasy, 
doubting  concern,  which  it  was  charming  to  watch. 
I  knew  she  was  trying  to  find  a  looking-glass.  At 
last  she  spied  one  in  the  top  of  a  weighing  machine, 
and  went  and  frowned  at  herself,  and  put  up  her 
chin  and  tried  to  get  a  side  view.  She  had  probably 
noticed  her  own  well-being,  for  she  dresses  so  cleverly 
that  she  must  pay  herself  a  lot  of  attention;  but  she 
was  now  evidently  perturbed  as  to  how  she  might 
strike  other  people. 

She  turned  from  the  glass  to  me  with  her  low- 
voiced  intimate  air  of  appeal  to  try  and  get  from  me 
a  serious  opinion  in  her  favor. 

"No,  T.,  really!  Do  you  think  I  am?  I  know 
you're  joking." 

"Indeed  it's  no  joke.  You'll  be  a  huge  woman  in 
a  year  or  two  if  you  go  on  at  this  rate,"  I  laughed, 
"Look  at  yourself  again.  Surely  you  notice  the 
change." 

Nita  followed  my  suggestion  and  frowned  at  her- 
self again  and  was  troubled. 

"I  don't  see  anything  wrong,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  Nita !" 

"Is  it  here?"  and  she  touched  herself  under  the 
chin. 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

I  told  her  she  ought  to  weigh  herself  every  day 


158  THOMAS 

at  noon,  and  keep  tally;  and  I  slipped  a  penny  in 
the  slot  for  her,  and  by  secretly  putting  my  foot 
on  the  stand,  I  brought  her  up  to  ten  stone  five  and 
almost  frightened  her. 

"You  shouldn't  be  depressed,"  I  told  her  as  we 
walked  away.  "It's  quite  likely  you'll  grow  into  a 
fine  big  woman." 

Her  pleasure  was  being  spoilt,  so  I  had  to  tell 
her  of  the  trick  I  had  played  on  her.  It  was  charm- 
ing to  see  the  ridiculous  way  she  brightened  and 
laughed  when  I  told  her  she  was  quite  all  right. 
She  is  like  a  child  in  some  ways,  and  the  very  best 
of  companions — upon  my  word  she  is.  I  never  had  a 
sister,  but  they  must  be  good  fun  when  they  are  like 
Nita. 


Bat  is  coming  down  for  the  week-end.  He  is 
evidently  bitten  with  his  success  as  a  trout  fisher, 
for  I  had  a  letter  this  morning  proposing  another 
visit  to  Fradford  "to  get  out  the  other  bounders," 
and  Aunt  Elizabeth  has  let  me  wire  and  invite  him 
down — "but  mind,"  she  said,  "he  must  understand 
that  he  won't  get  wines  and  a  London  cook  here." 


It  was  just  after  I  wrote  these  last  words,  two 
days  ago,  that  I  had  a  sort  of  seaside  adventure. 
I  still  feel  flat,  and  as  though  I  had  swallowed  a 
fly,  and  my  head  sings  a  bit.  It  happened  that  we 


MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND  159 

had  not  come  down  to  the  front  in  Susan.  After 
our  bath  the  party  straggled  off  for  various  reasons 
to  meet  later  at  lunch,  and  I  was  sitting  on  the 
beach  which,  at  one  o'clock,  was  almost  deserted, 
when  there  was  a  succession  of  shrieks  like  a  steam 
whistle,  and  the  next  moment  I  realized  that  the 
only  bather  in  view  was  in  difficulties,  and  that  his 
companion  on  the  beach  was  letting  off  the  danger 
signals  I  heard.  I  got  rid  of  coat  and  waistcoat  and 
collar,  and  had  waded  in  breast-deep  before  I  again 
saw  the  man  not  very  far  out. 

The  lady  meanwhile  was  letting  off  shriek  after 
shriek  and  all  Bourncombe  was  running.  Before  I 
reached  the  place  he  had  gone.  I  paddled  about 
looking  for  a  sign  and  suddenly  he  came  up  strug- 
gling, and  kicked  me  on  the  jaw.  It  must  have  nearly 
knocked  me  out  of  time,  for  when  I  recovered  myself 
I  was  retching  and  choking,  and  the  fellow  was 
clutching  me.  I  had  a  struggle  to  get  up  my  knee 
and  push  him  off,  but  he  was  pretty  well  done  by 
that  time,  and  I  knew  then  that  I  could  manage  him 
all  right  if.  I  took  things  cooly.  I  got  him  on  his 
back  and  lay  on  my  own  and  just  kicked  along  with 
my  legs  while  I  held  him  round  the  chin,  and  so 
towed  him.  It  was  a  slow  business  and  I  had  swal- 
lowed a  lot  of  water.  I  think  I  went  into  a  sort  of 
trance  as  I  pumped  along,  for  a  great  time  seemed 
to  pass,  and  the  next  thing  was  that  someone  caught 
hold  of  me  and  I  found  I  was  standing.  All  I 
wanted  was  just  to  lie  down  and  be  left  alone.  I 


160  THOMAS 

knew  they  had  got  the  other  fellow  all  right,  but 
I  don't  know  what  they  did  with  him.  Some  other 
people  came  and  helped  me  to  the  beach,  and  then 
the  crowd  closed  round  in  a  dense  circle  and  watched 
me  being  sick.  Soon  a  young  doctor  forced  his  way 
to  me  and  drove  the  crowd  back,  and  he  and  another 
man  drained  me,  and  undressed  me  and  toweled  me. 
Someone  produced  brandy  and  I  began  to  feel  quite 
cheerful.  I  was  given  my  coat  and  waistcoat,  and 
Brereton,  the  doctor,  lent  me  an  overcoat  and  gave 
me  an  elbow  up  the  beach  to  his  car. 

Just  as  I  was  making  a  bit  of  a  tug  of  it  to  get 
up  the  steep  slope  of  shingle  at  high  water-mark,  a 
man  came  scrambling  along  the  beach,  slid  down  in 
an  avalanche  of  stones  on  top  of  us,  and  nearly 
knocked  us  both  over. 

"I  congratulate  you,  sir!  Your  name,  please. 
The  Bourncombe  Advertiser." 

I  felt  rather  lost. 

"He  wants  to  know  your  name  for  the  paper,"  said 
Brereton. 

"Williams,"  I  said. 

"Christian  name  please,  and  address." 

"Alfred,"  I  said.    "Grand  Hotel." 

"A  visitor!     Home  address?" 

"Hundred  and  seventy-seven  Tottenham  Court 
Road." 

"London?" 

"No,  Edinburgh." 

Brereton  pushed  the  fellow  aside,  and  we  left  him 


MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND  161 

scribbling  eagerly  in  his  notebook  like  a  dog  with  a 
bone. 

As  we  got  into  the  car,  the  crowd  broke  into  a 
cheer.  I  wondered  when  I  got  to  Willand's  whether, 
among  the  people  who  cheered,  I  had  heard  the 
voice  of  the  person  who  stole  my  watch,  and  three 
pounds  ten  in  gold,  from  my  pockets  while  I  was  in 
the  water.  I  feel  ashamed  to  mention  it,  but  the 
thing  had  been  done. 

Brereton  insisted  on  coming  up  and  giving  me 
another  rub  down,  and  making  me  put  on  thick 
underwear,  as  I  wouldn't  go  to  bed  and  have  a  scene, 
and,  in  fact,  there  was  no  need  for  it.  Brereton 
wouldn't  hear  of  a  fee.  He  seemed  quite  hurt.  He 
said  he  would  come  again  next  day  and  just  give 
me  an  overhaul. 

"Oh  no,  you  just  won't,"  I  said.  "I  know  you 
fellows.  You'll  tell  me  I've  got  Bright's  disease, 
or  Mackenzie's  disease,  and  that  I  ought  to  go  in  for 
Fletcherism  or  Haigism.  The  only  disease  I've  got 
is  Quinn's  disease,  and  I  like  it,  and  I  don't  want 
to  be  cured  at  all  if  it  can't  be  cured  by  a  regular 
course  of  Quinnism." 

When  I  reached  the  luncheon  table  Aunt  Eliza- 
beth made  little  noises  as  though  she  were  too  in- 
dignant to  find  suitable  words  in  which  to  express 
herself. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?  Why  are  you  so 
late?  We've  nearly  finished.  I  don't  know  what 


162  THOMAS 

the  fish  will  be  like,  I'm  sure.  I  told  them  to  put 
it  back  in  the  steamer,  so  it  will  be  your  fault  if 
you  don't  like  it.  It's  no  good  trying  to  keep  curry 
hot,  the  rice  gets  dried  up,  so  I  had  to  carve  for  you. 
I've  done  the  best  I  can.  There's  a  cold  pie  if  you 
like  it  better." 

"Sorry,  sorry,  sorry,"  I  said,  patting  her  hand,  as 
I  sat  down. 

Everyone  looked  at  me.  I  hadn't  realized  that  my 
voice  was  so  croaky. 

"Why,  what's  happened?"  said  Nita.  "Oh,  look 
at  him!  He's  ill!" 

So  I  had  to  tell  them  something,  and  made  them 
laugh,  and  got  them  to  forget  all  about  it  in  ten 
minutes.  I  had  Nita  at  me  after  lunch,  however.  I 
managed  to  answer  her  questions  satisfactorily, 
though  she  accepted  my  account  grudgingly. 

"I  believe  you  are  telling  fibs,"  she  said. 


I  can't  help  realizing,  all  the  same,  that  I  am 
well  out  of  it;  though  it  would  have  been  a  simple 
business  if  he  hadn't  kicked  me.  I  told  Ferdinand 
about  it,  and  he  says  he  saw  the  fellow  just  before 
he  left  the  beach  showing  off  to  a  girl,  and  pre- 
tending he  was  an  expert,  though  evidently  no  swim- 
mer at  all.  Ferdinand  had  been  amused  to  watch 
him.  This  evening  I  got  a  copy  of  the  weekly 
Bourncombe  Advertiser.  The  account  is  so  funny  that 
I  reproduce  it  in  full : — 


MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND  163 

"FATAL  ACCIDENT 

ALMOST   EVENTUATES 

MR.  BERT  SUTHERLAND 
NEARLY  DROWNED 

"Bourncombe  was  rudely  startled  last  Tuesday  by 
what  might  have  been  a  fatal  bathing  misadventure, 
the  victim  being  no  other  than  the  well-known  and 
popular  leading  comedian  of  the  Marguerite  Reper- 
toire Co.,  now  delighting  audiences  in  the  Royal  Pier 
Pavilion  with  the  delightful  extravaganza  'Rosey 
Posey  Limited,'  with  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland  in  the 
inimitable  personation  of  'Porgie  Geordie.' 

"It  is  a  long  time  since  any  serious  bathing  mishap 
has  eventuated  at  Bourncombe,  which  is  well  known 
as  by  far  the  safest  beach  on  the  South  or  any  other 
coast,  and  thanks  to  the  precautions  taken  by  our 
worthy  Councillors,  the  Beach  Committee,  and  the 
R.H.S.,  it  will  be  supposed  that  the  misadventure  of 
which  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland  was  the  subject  was  such 
as  must  always  obtain  in  reference  to  those  who  go 
down  to  the  sea,  whether  in  ships  or  in  pursuit  of  the 
manly  sport  of  bathing;  and  this  it  appears  was  the 
case. 

"Mr.  Bert  Sutherland  informs  us  that  he  had  been 
swimming  for  some  considerable  time  in  a  direction 
parallel  to  the  beach  when  he  suddenly  found  him- 
self in  difficulties.  Fortunately,  Miss  Girlie  Alexander, 
who  is  known  to  our  readers  by  her  dainty  witchery 
in  the  charming  part  of  Rosey  Posey,  was  at  the  mo- 
ment reclining  on  the  beach,  and  realizing  that  a 
tragedy  might  be  on  the  point  of  commencing,  with 
the  most  praiseworthy  presence  of  mind  appealed  to 
a  bystander  for  assistance.  This  gentleman,  who 
proves  to  be  Mr.  Alfred  Williams,  of  177  Tottenham 


164  THOMAS 

Court  Road,  Edinburgh,  now  a  visitor  at  the  Grand 
Hotel,  most  gallantly  responded  to  the  lady's  suppli- 
cations, and  hurriedly  divesting  himself  of  his  coat 
and  vest,  at  once  plunged  into  the  sea,  which,  at  that 
hour  (1  p.m.)  was  at  about  half-tide,  and  in  due 
course,  with  the  able  assistance  of  Mr.  Henry  Hinch, 
who  followed  Mr.  Williams  into  the  water,  that  gen- 
tleman succeeded  in  being  instrumental  in  the  safe 
restoration  of  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland  to  terra  firma. 
After  the  application  of  restorative  methods  by  Dr. 
Hoxton  [M.D.],  who  was  providentially  passing  in  his 
motor  brougham  at  the  time,  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland 
was  conveyed  to  his  suite  at  Sandview  Private  Hotel 
which,  under  the  personal  direction  of  the  propriet- 
ress, Mrs.  Bunyan,  is  so  deservedly  popular  with  our 
theatrical  visitors. 

"Mr.  Bert  Sutherland  was  unable  to  appear  in 
Rosey,  Posey  Limited,  on  Wednesday,  but  on  Thurs- 
day evening  he  rejoined  the  cast,  when  his  appear- 
ance on  the  stage  led  to  an  ovation  which  speaks  well 
for  the  popularity  of  this  screaming  comedian  among 
Bourncombe  visitors  and  residents." 


CHAPTER  X 

CANON  TABS  MEETS  BAT  VERNON 

BAT  burst  upon  us  in  all  his  glory  on  Saturday. 
His  arrival  was  a  tremendous  success  from  his 
point  of  view.  He  had  told  us  to  expect  him  to  lunch, 
and  at  half -past  eleven  we  were  all  in  the  sea,  and 
I  was  standing,  after  my  swim,  watching  Myra  and 
Nita  teaching  each  other  to  float,  and  looking  at  Nita's 
ten  toes  sticking  up  out  of  the  water,  which  I  observed 
to  be  smaller  and  pinker  than  Myra's,  when  something 
seized  me  by  the  ankles,  and  before  I  knew  what  was 
happening,  I  was  shot  up  into  the  air  and  fell  back 
head  over  heels  into  the  water.  For  the  moment  I 
thought  I  was  again  in  the  clutches  of  Mr.  Bert 
Sutherland,  but  when  I  got  my  head  out  it  was  to 
see  Bat  laughing  at  the  success  with  which  he  had 
come  all  the  way  from  London  and  torpedoed  me.  He 
had  got  away  earlier  than  he  expected  and,  after 
calling  at  the  house,  had  followed  us  down. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bat,  "it's  me  all  right,  but  it's  not 
my  bathing-suit,"  he  added,  hitching  the  garment  over 

165 


166  THOMAS 

his  shoulder.  "It's  the  bathing-suit  Professor  Dow- 
son,  the  champion  weight-lifter,  expanded  last  year." 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?" 

"It's  quite  all  right.  The  bathing  'pro.'  told  me  it 
was  the  suit  Dowson  wore.  It's  been  burst  by  Pro- 
fessor Dowson,  and  that  makes  it  valuable." 

Here  Bat  went  under. 

"Where  are  the  ladies?"  he  said,  sweeping  back 
his  hair.  "Are  those  they?  Introduce  me  now,  will 
you?" 

"Come  along,"  I  said,  so  we  dived  and  swam  under 
water  with  hands  linked,  and  came  up  like  twins  close 
to  the  pair.  It  is  impossible  to  be  serious  in  the 
water. 

Bat,  unable  to  forget  his  ill-fitting  dress,  of  course 
dragged  in  Dowson. 

"Yes.  T.'s  quite  right,"  he  said,  when  I  introduced 
him,  "it's  me,  but  it's  not  my  dress.  It's  the  one 
they  got  Professor  Dowson  down  to  stretch  for  them 
last  year,  and  he  stretched  it  too  far." 

He  and  I  went  out  to  the  deserted  diving-boat,  and, 
on  the  far  side  of  it,  kicked  off  our  costumes  and 
revelled  in  a  swim  as  alone  it  can  be  fully  enjoyed: 
and  that  is  mother  naked,  with  one's  clean,  slick  limbs 
urging  one  forward  in  great  bounds,  and  the  water 
gurgling  at  one's  ear,  racing  over  one's  skin  from 
shoulder  to  heel,  and  nursing  one  secure  in  delicious 
arms,  while  one's  body  tingles  with  vitality  and  the 
sense  of  being.  There  was  a  moment  when  I  could 
have  leaped  from  the  water  like  a  salmon.  I  felt  I 


CANON  TABB  MEETS  BAT  VERNON    167 

was  supreme  and  a  man.  I  felt  there  was  a  woman 
for  me  somewhere.  But  where?  How  glorious  to 
swim  beside  her  and  see  her  sunlit  hair  twisted  up 
dry  upon  her  head,  and  the  blue  water  crumbling 
white  against  her  neck  and  gushing  over  her  soft 
contours!  And  then  to  kiss  her,  all  wet  and  laugh- 
ing! I  thought  of  Rachel,  but  she  didn't  quite  fit, 
somehow.  She  would  be  rather  too  solid  and  prosaic 
— though  I  do  admire  her  most  tremendously  all  the 
same.  What  I  seemed  to  want  was  a  goddess.  The 
trouble  is  that  hardly  any  woman  is  perfect.  Many 
are  quite  dazzling  at  first  shock,  but  very  soon  one  dis- 
covers their  blemishes.  I  don't  like  women  who 
wris^le,  for  one  thing.  Over  the  portal  of  my  affec- 
tions it  is  written :  "Abandon  wriggling,  ye  who'd  enter 
here." 

Bat  is  the  prettiest  swimmer  I  know.  He  cuts  the 
water  in  long  surges  in  which  you  will  hardly  trace 
the  moment  of  impulse.  He  makes  so  little  disturb- 
ance that  the  drops  running  from  his  fingers,  as  his 
arm  is  raised  and  poised  above  the  water,  seem  to 
rebound  from  the  glassy  blue  surface  and  ride  away 
like  pearls  upon  a  hard  dry  sea.  He  is  one  of  those 
men  who  can  float  only  with  difficulty,  while  I  lie 
out  on  the  water  on  my  chest  like  a  frog. 

The  result  of  Bat's  aquatic  introduction  was  that 
when  we  all  met  again  on  the  beach  it  was  as  though 
he  had  known  Myra  and  Nita  intimately  for  months. 
I  suppose  that  since  he  had  seen  them  out  of  their 
clothes  they  felt  that  their  show  was  already  given 


168  THOMAS 

away,  and  they  made  no  attempt  to  engage  him  with 
barricades  up  and  all  bunting  flying,  which  is  the 
enigmatic  way  pretty  women  always  seem  to  greet 
the  approach  of  a  strange  man.  This  was  no  doubt 
Bat's  idea  when  he  plunged  into  the  sea  on  top  of 
us.  He  is  a  knowing  old  bird — a  very  thoughtful  man 
in  his  own  way. 

Bat,  of  course,  played  off  Professor  Dowson  again 
on  Aunt  Elizabeth  at  lunch.  She  had  no  sort  of  idea 
what  he  was  talking  about,  and  this,  as  usual,  de- 
lighted Bat.  He  gets  on  splendidly  with  the  old  lady, 
and  she  was  all  smiles  and  graces  while  he  was  with 
us,  and  he  did  not  shock  her  once,  though  this  is  a 
thing  I  can  hardly  avoid  doing  from  hour  to  hour. 

We  were  a  merry  part  at  lunch,  and  a  remark  of 
Myra's  led  us  to  the  idea  of  giving  up  the  after- 
noon to  a  prawning  expedition. 

"The  great  thing  in  fishing  for  prawns,"  said  Bat 
oracularly,  after  a  preliminary  cough,  "is  to  catch  the 
little  beggars  by  the  whiskers.  All  you  want  is  a  pair 
of  tongs.  Then  you  are  all  right." 

"I  hope  you  play  bridge,  Mr.  Vernon,"  said  Aunt 
Elizabeth.  It  appeared  that  she  had  invited  the  in- 
cumbent of  St.  Audrey's  to  dinner. 

"Mr.  Tabb  is  the  best  bridge-player  in  Bourn- 
combe,"  she  said,  shaking  her  finger  at  me,  "so  mind !" 

"Tabb !"  I  said.  "Is  that  Montague  James  Erasmus, 
editor  ot  Tidds'  Biblical  Almanac?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  the  almanac,  but  he 
is  a  very  clever  person,  so  you  had  better  be  on  your 


CANON  TABB  MEETS  BAT  VERNON    169 

best  behavior,  young  man,"  Aunt  Elizabeth  admon- 
ished me. 

"Is  he  Canon  Tabb  of  Tanbury?" 

"Yes.  He  is  taking  Mr.  Booth's  place  while  he  is 
away  on  his  holiday." 

"By  jove,  it's  the  editor,"  I  said,  laughing.  "Is 
Mrs.  Tabb  coming  too?" 

Aunt  E.  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
said  in  a  low  voice — 

"The  Canon  was  not  blessed  in  marriage.  His  wife 
left  him,  poor  man.  She  is  doing  typewriting  in 
America,  they  say." 

"Ha,  ha!"  I  cried  triumphantly.  "I  should  like  to 
meet  Mrs.  Tabb.  She  must  be  the  right  sort." 

"Well,  really,  Thomas,"  complained  the  old  lady, 
"you  have  the  most  extraordinary  manners  of  any- 
one I  know." 

"But,  my  dear  aunt,"  I  assured  her,  "you'd  laugh, 
too,  if  you'd  read  his  book  on  marriage.  Nita,"  I 
cried,  "Canon  Tabb,  Professor  of  Matrimony,  is  com- 
ing to  dinner,  so  keep  a  long  upper  lip  tonight,  and 
no  laughing,  please;  and  Myra,  couldn't  you  raise  a 
red  nose  for  the  occasion  and  wear  one  of  Nita's  old 
dresses  inside  out,  and  make  Ferdinand  brush  his  hair 
well  down  into  his  eyes  and  look  chastened?  You 
see,"  I  explained  to  Aunt  Elizabeth,  "it  would  only  be 
kind  to  try  and  keep  poor  Mr.  Tabb  in  countenance." 

Aunt  E.  sighed  and  shrugged  her  shoulders,  as  she 
does  when  she  feels  out  of  her  depth,  so  I  patted  her 
on  the  hand  and  told  her  it  was  all  right. 


170  THOMAS 

After  lunch,  when  Ferdinand,  in  his  quiet  way,  had 
gone  off  to  arrange  about  the  prawning  gear,  I  told 
Bat  of  Tabb's  book. 

"It's  all  very  well,"  he  said,  "but  he  probably  knows 
his  job  a  good  deal  better  than  you  think.  I've  a 
respect  for  the  Church,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  these 
downy  old  boys  make  a  very  good  thing  out  of  it. 
Your  mother  gave  you  the  book;  well,  that  was  a 
shilling  for  Tabb,  and  there  are  probably  thousands 
and  thousands  of  mothers  doing  the  same  for  their 
sons  and  for  Tabb,  and  Tabb,  for  all  you  know, 
is  feathering  his  nest  very  well." 

"But  it's  the  most  horrible  cant  you  ever  read." 

"Exactly,"  said  Bat.  "There's  an  enormous  demand 
for  cant." 

I  fek  stumped  out,  as  I  always  do  when  Bat  turns 
on  his  worldly  wisdom  tap. 

Just  at  this  point  Nita  and  Myra  joined  us,  dressed 
for  prawning,  each  looking  like  the  old  lady  of  the 
nursery  rhyme  after  her  engagement  with  the  pedlar 
named  Stout ;  and  we  all  five  of  us  packed  down  into 
Susan  and  started  off  on  our  expedition ;  the  ladies  in 
their  improvised  prawning  skirts  and  with  bathing 
shoes  on  their  stockinged  feet.  It  is  wonderful  how 
enduring  is  the  grace  of  a  comely  woman.  I  could  see 
that  Nita  filled  Bat's  eye,  and  I  felt  an  uncle's  pride  in 
her.  In  the  course  of  the  evening,  after  she  sat 
down  in  two  feet  of  water,  her  appearance  was  even 
improved. 

Myra  quickly  retired  up  the  beach  after  we  started 


CANON  TABS  MEETS  BAT  VERNON    171 

fishing,  where  Ferinand  soon  joined  her ;  the  explana- 
tion offered  was  that  Myra  did  not  like  crabs.  Nita 
stuck  out  the  crabs  all  right,  with  the  help  of  a  few 
screams  in  which  Bat  joined.  There  were  certainly 
plenty  of  crabs.  If  we  had  been  out  after  crabs  we 
should  have  had  nothing  to  complain  of. 

"You  know,"  Bat  told  Nita,  "you  can't  tickle  prawns 
as  you  can  trout.  The  little  blighters  always  tickle 
you  first  and  put  you  off  the  job.  It's  the  same  with 
a  crab.  You  can't  tickle  a  crab,  because  the  beggar 
is  much  better  at  tickling  than  you  are.  You  try  it, 
and  you'll  see  what  I  mean." 

However,  we  did  not  go  back  empty-handed.  We 
caught  a  prawn  at  last.  We  all  caught  him,  but  I 
caught  him  most.  It  was  in  the  excitement  of  this 
chase  that  Nita  met  with  her  mishap. 

We  ran  Nita  home  at  once.  As  she  stood  in  the 
back  of  the  car  I  could  hear  Bat  complaining  to 
her. 

"Look  here,  Mrs.  Fargeon,  you're  dripping  on  me. 
A- A- Ah!  I  say!  Look  out!  you're  making  me  all 
damp!  Why  don't  you  sit  down.  These  brine  com- 
presses are  splendid  things.  They're  all  the  rage  just 
now.  It's  a  solemn  fact.  They'd  charge  you  two 
guineas  in  Harley  Street  for  prescribing  something 
far  inferior  to  what  you've  got  on  now." 

Bat  and  I  were  standing  together  in  the  garden, 
each  with  a  gin  and  Vermouth  as  a  whet  for  dinner, 
when  the  parlormaid  came  unexpectedly  to  the  draw- 


172  THOMAS 

ing-room  window  and  told  us  that  Canon  Tabb  had 
arrived,  and  the  next  moment  there  he  was,  rubbing 
his  hands  together  under  his  chin  with  an  action  as 
though  he  were  washing  them  and  gazing  at  us  from 
the  hearth-rug.  As  we  couldn't  take  the  drinks  into 
the  drawing-room  I  asked  him  to  come  outside.  When 
I  invited  him  to  have  a  cocktail,  he  threw  up  one 
hand  and  turned  his  head  aside  with  a  sound  resem- 
bling a  groan. 

He  is  a  tall,  loosely  built,  drooping,  shaven  man, 
with  a  very  bald  head  bearing  a  long  tuft  of  thin 
sandy  red  hair  on  the  center  of  the  forehead,  which 
is  brushed  back  in  a  sort  of  plume.  He  has  a  heavy 
beaky  nose  and  a  long  lip  with  a  little  rabbit  chin 
below,  and  eyes  like  oysters.  Although  slim,  he  has 
an  appearance,  of  excessive  comfort  about  the  waist, 
and  he  calls  to  mind  some  unholy  sort  of  bird.  His 
shoulders  also  are  like  a  bird's.  He  is  a  man  of  fifty, 
rather  seamed  about  the  face,  but  with  a  little  color. 
He  looked  from  Bat  to  me  over  his  eyeglasses  while 
he  held  his  hands  behind  his  back.  He  appeared  so 
exactly  as  though  he  were  going  to  shake  his  head  at 
us  and  groan  disapproval  again,  that  if  we  had  not 
been  laughing  when  he  surprised  us  we  should  have 
had  some  difficulty  in  avoiding  an  appearance  of  undue 
gaiety.  As  it  was,  I  am  afraid  we  behaved  rather 
badly;  but  it  is  impossible  to  be  serious  when  Bat 
is  feeling  happy,  and  I  was  feeling  happy  too,  and 
the  intrusion  of  the  exotic  Tabb  at  that  moment  was 
more  than  our  gravity  could  compass. 


CANON  TABB  MEETS  BAT  VERNON    173 

"Let  me  introduce  my  friend,  Mr.  Vernon,"  I  said. 
"Mr.  Vernon  is  the  captor  of  Edward.  You  have 
perhaps  read  of  his  exploit  in  The  Field,  Canon 
Tabb." 

Tabb  bowed. 

"And  this,"  said  Bat,  "is  my  friend,  Mr.  Alfred 
Williams,  of  Hundred  and  Seventy-seven  Tottenham 
Court  Road,  Edinburgh,  of  whom  you  may  have  read 
an  account  in  today's  paper." 

"Mr.  Tabb's  name  is  no  doubt  familiar  to  you  as 
joint  editor  of  Tidds'  Biblical  Almanac"  I  said  to 
Bat. 

"Tidds!"  exclaimed  Bat.  "I  know  Tidds'  dog 
biscuits,  of  course.  They're  famous  all  the  world 
over.  Everyone  knows  Tidds." 

"Totally  different  thing — different  firm  altogether," 
said  Tabb  quickly. 

"Well,  anyhow,  they're  splendid  things,  those  dog 
biscuits,"  Bat  went  on,  enthusiastically.  "Do  you 
know,"  he  said  impressively,  "that  there's  meat  in 
them!  It's  a  solemn  fact.  They're  most  excellent 
things.  I'm  sure  you're  to  be  congratulated,  Canon 
Tabb,  whether  it's  the  same  firm  or  not." 

At  this  moment  Aunt  Elizabeth's  voice  reached  us 
from  the  window :  "Ah !  there  you  are !"  Tabb  crept 
back  into  the  room  with  a  movement  which  was  one 
long-drawn  obeisance,  his  shoulders  drooping  and  his 
coat  hanging  much  longer  in  front  than  behind.  Aunt 
Elizabeth  always  warms  up  when  a  parson  is  within 
her  horizon,  in  fact  she  is  never  quite  herself,  I  think, 


174  THOMAS 

unless  one  is  at  hand.  The  old  lady  actually  sported 
ear-rings  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  and  had  an  effect 
of  white  lace  about  her  bust,  and  a  brighter  color 
and  a  readier  smile  than  usual.  She  is  a  grand  old 
dame,  and  Tabb  looked  a  particularly  gaunt  and  un- 
wholesome object  as  he  stood  before  her. 

At  dinner  Tabb's  demeanor  was  one  of  polite  in- 
difference to  four  of  us,  with  a  certain  warmth  of  con- 
descension towards  Ferdinand.  During  the  whole 
time  he  sat  with  a  distinct  list  in  Aunt  Elizabeth's 
direction,  and  kept  up  a  low-toned  private  conver- 
sation with  her  in  which  she  joined  with  an  appearance 
of  even  gaiety. 

With  the  idea  of  making  him  leave  go  of  Aunt 
Elizabeth,  and  thaw  him  out,  I  said:  "I  hear  you're 
a  bridge-player,  Canon.  Have  you  heard  the  story 
of  the  curate  who  took  a  hand  with  his  bishop?" 

Tabb  looked  at  me  over  his  spectacles  as  if  I 
were  a  museum  specimen  of  grave  import.  He  never 
looks  over  his  glasses  at  Aunt  Elizabeth,  and  not 
always  at  Ferdinand,  so  I  imagine  that  it  is  merely  a 
defensive  habit. 

"Well!"  I  said,  addressing  myself  to  Tabb,  who 
remained  looking  at  me  unwinkingly  with  the  naked 
oyster,  "the  curate  was  the  new  precentor,  and  the 
bishop  asked  him  to  dinner.  During  dinner  the  bishop 
asked  his  curate  if  he  played  cards,  and  the  curate 
answered  'Oh,  yes.  Ha!  Ha!'  But  as  the  unfor- 
tunate curate  was  suffering  from  nervousness  and 
replied  'Oh,  yes.  Ha !  Ha !'  to  everything  the  bishop 


CANON  TABB   MEETS  BAT  VERNON    175 

said  to  him,  the  bishop  inquired  a  little  sternly: 

"  'Do  you  play  bridge  ?' 

"  'Oh,  yes ;  at  least,  I  haven't  played  a  great  deal, 
but  I've  read  a  lot  about  it.  Ha !  Ha !' 

"  'Then  you'd  like  to  take  a  hand  ?' 

"'Oh,  yes.    Hal  Ha!' 

"When  they  went  into  the  drawing-room  the  tables 
were  got  ready  and  the  bishop  and  the  curate  sat  at 
the  same  table  and  were  cut  for  partners." 

"Now  this  is  the  bit  that  wants  following  closely," 
I  warned  the  company. 

"The  dealer  who  was  on  the  left  of  the  curate 
declared  'No  trumps/ 

"The  bishop  doubled  and  led  the  ace  of  hearts. 
"Dummy  played  the  four  of  hearts,  and 

"The  curate  threw  the  ace  of  clubs  and  cried 
'SNAP.' " 

Nita  and  Myra  laughed,  and  Tabb  looked  repeat- 
edly from  one  to  the  other  over  his  glasses,  as  though 
he  were  comparing  them;  then  he  looked  in  turn 
at  Bat,  at  me,  and  at  Ferdinand ;  and  last  he  lifted  his 
head  and  looked  at  Aunt  Elizabeth,  and  then  slowly 
responded  to  the  amusement  in  her  face  with  a  pursed 
smile. 

"Really,  these  young  people  are  so  ridiculous,"  said 
Aunt  Elizabeth,  "that  they  make  one  laugh  in  spite 
of  oneself." 

After  the  ladies  left  the  table,  Bat  opened  the 
conversation  by  telling  Tabb  we  had  been  prawn 
fishing,  and  developed  his  theories  on  prawning;  and 


176  THOMAS 

then,  finding  that  Tabb  had  a  distant  interest  in  fly- 
fishing, he  gave  him  a  playful  account  of  the  capture 
of  Edward  and  of  the  style  of  fishing  he  himself 
favored,  and  the  flies  he  liked  best.  Tabb  listened 
to  all  this  with  his  elbow  on  the  table,  his  face  resting 
on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  his  expressionless  eyes 
fixed  on  the  speaker. 

A  footstep  was  heard  on  the  gravel,  and  Ferdinand 
went  to  the  window  and  then  vanished  into  the  night. 
Tabb  stared  round  after  him  and  then  turned  and 
pillowed  his  head  on  his  hand  again. 

"Mr.  Wilson  is  responding  to  the  call  of  the  wild," 
I  said  to  Tabb.  "He  is  very  sensible  of  the  charms  of 
darkness  just  now." 

"It's  a  queer  thing,  you  know,"  said  Bat,  "but  a 
woman  is  always  most  appealing  when  you  can't  see 
her.  Haven't  you  noticed  it  ?"  he  asked  Tabb.  "That's 
why  they  cover  themselves  with  big  hats,  and  fluff 
out  their  hair,  and  peep  at  you  through  a  veil  with 
one  eye,  from  a  mass  of  fur  or  feathers.  They're 
all  quite  irresistible  when  they  do  that.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  I  said.  "You're  leaving 
out  the  spiritual  appeal.  The  less  graceful,  the  more 
gawky,  ill-dressed,  and  ugly  a  woman  is,  the  more 
readily  she  kindles  the  flame  of  spiritual  exaltation. 
All  flesh  is  vile.  It  ruins  the  spiritual  significance  of 
the  dual  state.  Is  it  not  so,  Canon?" 

"It  depends  entirely  where  it  is,  whether  it  is  vile 
or  not,"  said  Bat.  "That's  just  what  you  fellows 


CANON  TABB  MEETS  BAT  VERNON    177 

can  never  understand.  If  you  mean  on  the  ankles, 
I  entirely  agree  with  you;  I  can't  endure  a  girl  with 
her  calves  running  down  into  her  shoes;  but  upon 
the  shoulders,  for  instance.  No !  no !  There's  nothing 
vile  about  it  then.  Quite  the  reverse." 

Tabb  stirred  in  his  chair  and  sat  back  with  his 
hands  resting  on  the  table  before  him,  and  quite  forgot 
to  look  over  the  top  of  his  glasses. 

"You  entirely  misunderstand  me  in  supposing  that 
I  used  the  word  as  a  butcher  would,"  I  replied.  "You 
talk  like  a  pagan.  There  is  no  credit  in  admiring  an 
athletic  man  or  a  beautiful  woman.  That's  what  the 
ancient  Greeks  did.  Have  you  forgotten  all  about 
the  holy  men  in  the  Middle  Ages  who  lived  in  sties, 
or  holes  in  the  ground,  starving  on  offal;  and  who 
remained  unwashed  and  crawled  over  by  vermin  all 
their  lives  to  prove,  by  actual  example,  that  the  Greek 
ideal  was  unworthy?  There  is  no  credit  whatever  in 
being  alive  to  the  appeals  of  physical  perfection.  Even 
a  bullock  knows  a  pretty  cow  when  he  sees  one.  The 
supreme  attainment  of  humanity  is  to  find  affinity, 
through  pity  and  sorrow,  in  ugliness,  incompetence, 
dirt,  and  disease;  when  you  have  achieved  that,  my 
boy,  you  will  be  in  a  position  to  boast,  and  not  before. 
Am  I  not  right,  Canon?" 

"In  principle,  yes,  Mr. — er — "  said  Tabb,  halting 
for  my  name,  "but  the  manner  in  which  you — ah — 
expressed  yourself  would  be  considered  in  the  sphere 
in  which  my  own  humble  lot  is  cast  as,  if  I  may  say 
so,  infelicitous:  your  illustrations  were — unusual — ah 


178  THOMAS 

— quite  unconventional;  unconventional.  It  was  only 
last  month  that  I  had  occasion  to  remind  a  very 
dear  friend  of  mine,  now,  I  regret  to  say,  slowly  re- 
covering from  a  dangerous  illness  endured  with 
exemplary  fortitude,  that,  alas!  it  is  not  meant  that 
we  should  regard  our  ideals  as  practical  aspirations ; 
and  this  dear  friend  replied,"  Tabb  went  on,  smiling 
bemused  at  his  glasses  which  he  was  dangling  before 
his  nose,  "in  words  which  I  shall  never  forget,  'My 
dear  Canon,  I  am  grateful  now,  as  ever,  for  the  quick- 
ening lucidity  of  your  mind, — 'quickening  lucidity' — 
quite  admirably  expressed,  I  think."  He  glanced  at 
us. 

"Quite!  and  I,  too,  entirely  agree  with  you,  Canon 
Tabb,"  said  Bat.  "No  one  can  apply  ideals,  and  that's 
why  I  don't  try.  I  like  girls  to  be  nice  and  plump, 
but  slim  and  fairly  tall ;  not  too  young,  and,  for  pref- 
erence, fair ;  bright,  and  good  dressers,  and  thoroughly 
conscious  of  the  appeals  they  make,  with  a  bit  of 
money  of  their  own,  and  lots  and  lots  of  them.  Then 
I  begin  to  think  of  marriage.  But  I  tell  you  what  it 
is — I  like  'em  dainty.  I  do.  Nothing's  too  dainty  for 
me.  I  nearly  got  caught  once,"  he  went  on  confi- 
dentially to  Tabb,  who  had  again  put  his  arm  on  the 
table  and  pillowed  his  head,  and  was  gazing  wearily 
at  Bat  with  the  naked  oyster  as  before.  "I  had  quite 
met  my  fate,  as  I  thought.  I  was  just  taking  a  last 
hasty  look  round — calling  about  everywhere  to  make 
sure  I  had  not  overlooked  anything,  and  having  a  last 
look  at  all  the  other  ones  so  as  to  be  sure  I  hadn't 


CANON  TABB  MEETS  BAT  VERNON    179 

made  a  mistake  about  any  of  them  before.  I  finally 
committed  myself — when  it  happened!  But  it  was 
only  a  last  precaution,  you  must  understand.  I  had 
quite  made  up  my  mind  that  it  was  all  right. 

"Well,  it  was  like  this — you  don't  mind  my  telling 
you,  do  you?  Well,  you  see,  we  were  in  a  garden. 
There  was  a  garden  party  going  on — you  know  the 
idea.  We  were  in  a  remote  shrubbery  out  of  view, 
and  she  suddenly  noticed  that  a  lace  trimming  inside 
her  skirt  had  come  loose  and  was  hanging  down  in 
one  place.  I  was  able  to  produce  a  pin,  but  she  stooped 
down;  tore  the  whole  thing  out;  crushed  it  into  a 
ball,  and  threw  it  away  out  of  sight  among  *the 
bushes." 

He  stopped. 

"Well,  what  then?"  I  asked. 

"Well!  Then  it  was  all  over,"  said  Bat.  There 
was  another  pause. 

"Tell  me"?  asked  Tabb,  sitting  up  again.  "Why 
did  the  incident  you  describe  affect  your  intentions 
towards  the  young  lady  ?" 

"It  wasn't  being  dainty,"  said  Bat. 

Tabb  cast  down  his  eyes  and  slowly  shook  his 
head,  while  a  smothered  groan  escaped  him. 

"But  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  Bat  went  on,  "there's 
one  thing  that  is  wrong  with  all  of  them ;  have  you 
noticed,  Canon,  that  no  woman  is  long  enough  in  the 
leg?  There  never  was  a  woman  whose  legs  were 
the  proper  length.  And  they  all  know  it.  They  do. 
That's  why  they  wear  high  heels  and  deceptive  waists, 


180  THOMAS 

and  stand  on  a  book  when  they  are  photographed  in 
their  Court  dresses.  Even  the  great  hotel  and  rail- 
way companies  play  up  to  it,  and  try  to  get  their 
barmaids  to  look  right.  Have  you  ever  noticed, 
Canon,  that  they  make  the  floor  behind  the  bar  three 
or  four  inches  higher  than  the  level  we  stand  on? 
Well,  its  a  fact.  They  do  it  on  purpose.  That's  how 
it  is  they  get  us  on." 

Tabb  had  not  appeared  to  be  listening  while  Bat 
was  speaking.  He  was  making  circles  on  the  cloth 
with  the  foot  of  his  wineglass.  Directly  Bat  stopped 
he  broke  in. 

"I  will  tell  you  a  beautiful  experience  of  my  own," 
he  said,  "among  many,  many  such  experiences  which 

I  have  exp to  which  I  have  been  subject,  and 

which  illustrates  the  spiritual  significance  of  the  dual 
state  to  which  Mr.  Quinn  has  referred.  One  of  my 
poor  people,  a  woman  of  my  parish,  became  engaged 
to  a  young  man  from  a  neighboring  parish.  He  was  a 
young  man  who  was  highly  spoken  of  by  the  rector 
of  that  parish ;  and  he  employed  himself  humbly  with 
a  little  cart,  to  which  he  harnessed  his  ass;  and  he 
and  his  ass  from  day  to  day  collected  rags,  and  bones, 
and  disused  bottles,  and  the  sustenance  of  pigs,  and 
whatnot  from  the  houses  of  the  rich,  and  by  so  doing 
preserved  what  might  otherwise  have  been  wasted. 
On  Sundays  he  helped  the  clerk,  and  rang  the  bell, 
and  I  do  not  doubt  that  if  Providence  had  so  willed 
he  would  now  be  holding  the  position  of  clerk  in  the 
parish,  in  which  he  had  been  born,  and  in  which  he 


CANON  TABB  MEETS  BAT  VERNON    181 

had  spent  so  many  happy  and  fruitful  years — years 
not  only  of  piety  but  of  material  welfare.  Well,  this 
poor  young  man,  as  the  day  of  his  nuptials  approached, 
found  himself  becoming  gradually  afflicted  with 
carbuncles — " 

"Look  here,"  said  Ferdinand  suddenly  from  the 
window,  "the  ladies  say  you've  got  to  come  and  play 
bridge." 

Bat  and  I  started  up  from  our  chairs  with  alacrity, 
so  that  I  cannot  say  what  Tabb's  beautiful  experience 
with  the  afflicted  scavenger  actually  was. 

When  we  gained  the  drawing-room  we  found  the 
table  set  for  cards  and  Nita,  especially,  in  very  high 
feather.  To  calm  her  down  a  bfty  I  tucked  the  joker 
into  the  back  of  her  dress  so  adroitly,  and  at  such  a 
moment,  that  it  looked  as  though  Tabb  had  done  it, 
and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  watching  his  face  when  he 
unexpectedly  met  Nita's  swift  flashing  glance  of  ques- 
tioning astonishment.  I  won't  attempt  to  describe  it, 
but  it  persuaded  me  that  Tabb  is  not  such  an  old  sheep 
as  he  makes  out. 

Nita  and  I  were  partners  against  Tabb  and  Myra. 
Bat  sat  out  and  entertained  Aunt  Elizabeth,  while 
Ferdinand  took  up  a  position  behind  Myra  and  glowed 
in  her  radiance  while  he  pretended  to  watch  her  play. 

Nita  dealt  the  first  hand,  laughing  and  talking  the 
while,  and  then  cheerfully  asked  us  to  count  our 
cards. 

"Twelve,"  I  announced.  "How  many  have  you, 
Mr.  Tabb?" 


182  THOMAS 

"My  hand  is  correct,"  said  Tabb. 

"I've  only  got  ten,"  cried  Nita.  "There  must  be 
some  missing." 

"No,  it's  all  right,"  Myra  exclaimed;  "I've  got 
seventeen.  It's  only  a  misdeal." 

So  Nita  had  another  try  and  we  all  watched  her, 
and  she  did  it  very  nicely.  As  I  shuffled  the  pack  I 
was  tempted  by  Tabb's  weighty  demeanor  to  test  his 
reputation  as  the  best  bridge-player  in  Bourncombe. 

Nothing  particular  happened  until  the  fourth  hand 
had  been  played,  when  it  was  observed  that  Tabb  was 
in  difficulties  in  counting  the  tricks.  They  were  on 
the  table  before  him  but,  do  what  he  would,  he  could 
not  make  seven  and  five  total  thirteen.  Two  hands 
earlier  he  had  been  content  to  count  his  own  tricks 
only ;  but  now  he  handled  and  examined  all  the  tricks, 
and  finally  he  counted  the  pack  and  found  that  there 
were  only  forty-eight  cards.  I  then  took  the  four 
queens  out  of  my  pocket  and  gave  them  to  him. 

Tabb  couldn't  see  the  joke.  The  only  effect  upon 
him  was  that  he  became  pensive,  like  a  bird  with  in- 
digestion. Nita  kept  me  in  countenance  by  laughing 
so  uproariously  that  Aunt  Elizabeth  began  to  grow 
restive  in  her  chair.  It  is  not  the  first  time  that  I 
have  taken  the  queens  out  of  the  pack,  as  Nita  is 
aware,  and  she  is  also  aware  that  no  one  ever  misses 
them. 

All  Tabb  said  was: 

"Tell  me  ?  Were  the  queens  missing  when  the  pack 
was  dealt  before?" 


CANON  TABB  MEETS  BAT  VERNON 

I  had  to  inform  him  they  were. 

After  that  we  settled  down,  for  it  was  evident  that 
Aunt  Elizabeth  was  a  little  vexed  at  what  was  going 
on.  Tabb  played  a  sound  game,  but  he  has  an  annoy- 
ing way,  when  he  is  third  or  fourth  player,  of  naming, 
under  his  breath,  the  card  he  has  got  to  beat,  before 
referring  to  his  own  hand. 

We  won  the  first  rubber,  and  then  Bat  took  Myra's 
place.  The  principle  of  Bat's  game  is  to  lose,  as  soon 
as  possible,  every  trick  he  thinks  he  has  got  to  lose, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  throw  down  a  string  of  best  cards 
with  a  flourish  at  the  end.  This  often  costs  him  dear, 
but  he  can't  play  a  bit,  anyhow,  and  doesn't  want  to 
learn. 

He  pffered  to  explain  to  us  what  the  lady  in 
Collier's  picture  "The  Cheat"  had  done  in  order  to 
justify  the  painting,  which  shows  a  bridge-table,  and 
one  player  in  the  act  of  challenging  another,  who  is 
guilty  We  none  of  us  knew  what  was  intended,  but 
Bat  explained. 

"It's  quite  simple,"  he  said.  "What  the  beggars 
do  is  to  secretly  substitute  a  winning  card  drawn  from 
the  tricks  on  the  table,  for  a  worthless  card,  and  to 
play  it  again." 

Tabb  could  not  follow  this,  so  Bat  offered  to 
"teach  him  how  to  do  it,"  and  the  cards  were  dealt 
round.  With  much  fumbling  and  by  dint  of  draw- 
ing away  our  attention  by  saying  "What's  that 
on  the  wall  over  there,"  and  so  on,  he  managed  to  take- 
two  tricks  with  the  ace  of  diamonds,  and  three  with 


184  THOMAS 

the    ace   of    clubs,    and    seemed    much    delighted. 

Tabb  was  still  not  satisfied.  "But  I  perceived  what 
you  were  doing,"  he  protested. 

"Exactly,"  said  Bat.  "I  told  you  I  was  going  to 
cheat.  You  were  on  the  look-out.  These  people  in 
fast  society  don't  tell  you  beforehand,  mind  that. 
They  just  cheat  you  and  bolt." 

"It  seems  incredible,"  said  Tabb,  "that  it  should 
not  be  remarked  when  the  ace  of  clubs  is  played  three 
times  by  the  same  player  from  the  one  hand." 

"It's  no  more  remarkable  than  that  it  was  not 
noticed  just  now  that  all  the  queens  were  missing. 
Besides,  you  can  always  pass  a  winning  card  under 
the  table,  Canon,  and  let  your  partner  have  a  turn 
with  it.  Of  course  they  are  found  out  sometimes, 
or  we  should  not  know  they  do  it,  and  Mr.  Collier 
would  not  be  able  to  paint  them  at  the  job." 

Tabb  seemed  puzzled  but  not  convinced. 

"Have  you  seen  this  card  trick?"  said  Bat.  And 
he  began  a  simple  little  card  trick,  popular  with 
children,  in  which  knaves,  queens  and  kings  after  being 
"put  to  bed"  promiscuously  are  found,  when  the  pack 
has  been  manipulated  and  cut,  in  their  respective 
downies. 

Tabb,  however,  in  spite  of  Bat's  attempts  to  hold 
him,  looked  at  his  watch,  and  then  withdrew  and 
engaged  Aunt  Elizabeth  in  conversation.  Shortly 
afterwards  he  bowed  himself  out. 

Aunt  Elizabeth  is,  I  am  afraid,  annoyed  with  us, 
but  I  don't  see  why  she  should  put  it  all  on  me. 


CANON  TABB  MEETS  BAT  VERNON    185 

She  says  I  am  one  of  the  family,  and  should  try  to 
make  her  guests  feel  at  home.  That,  however,  is 
Ferdinand's  job;  besides,  I  cannot  help  Tabb  being 
so  ridiculous.  It  was  all  pure  fun,  and  one  must 
have  a  bit  of  fun  sometimes.  If  Tabb  had  ruled 
the  roost  it  would  have  been  a  horribly  dull  evening, 
and  Aunt  Elizabeth  would  then  have  got  at  me  from 
the  other  side,  I  suppose.  Nita  did  not  seem  to  think 
anything  of  it  though  she  kept  a  long  face  when  Aunt 
Elizabeth  was  letting  fly  at  me. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MODESTY  REWARDED 

A  DAY  or  two  after  the  Monday  morning  when 
I  saw  Bat  into  the  London  train,  Nita  and  I 
were  sitting  on  the  beach,  trying  which  of  us  could 
make  the  highest  pile  by  building  single  stones  one 
on  top  of  another,  when  a  shadow  fell  upon  our  labors, 
and  I  heard  a  voice  say: 

"That's  him." 

I  looked  up  and  saw  two  men  standing  before 
us.  The  taller  of  the  two,  who  had  spoken,  and  who 
nudged  the  air  in  my  direction,  was  a  stranger  to  me. 
The  face  of  the  shorter  man  seemed  familiar,  how- 
ever, and  a  moment  later  I  realized  that  I  was  con- 
fronted by  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland.  He  was  dressed 
in  rather  dirty  white  flannels ;  blacked  boots ;  a  double- 
breasted  blue  cheviot  coat;  pink  satin  tie;  wore  a 
buff -colored  Homburgh  hat  with  a  broad  blue  ribbon, 
and  carried  a  very  long  crook-handled  walking-stick 
with  a  chased  gold  band.  In  his  other  hand  he  held  a 
large  white  envelope. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  I  am  addressing  the 
gentleman  to  whom  I  owe  the  preservatidh  of  my 
life?"  he  asked,  advancing. 

186 


MODESTY  REWARDED  187 

I  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  The  situation  was 
ridiculous,  and  I  felt  Nita  to  be  all  ears. 

"That's  him  right  enough,"  said  the  companion,  who 
had  closed  up  and  was  picking  a  bit  of  seaweed  to 
pieces  in  his  fingers  as  he  looked  at  me  seriously. 

"I  pulled  you  out  the  other  day  if  that's  what  you 
mean,"  I  said.  "I  hope  you  are  none  the  worse." 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  thank  you,  sir.  I  went 
to  the  'Grand,'  but  there's  some  mistake,  for  they 
said  you  were  not  staying  there ;  and  I've  been  to 
some  other  hotels  too.  But  this  gentleman  said  he'd 
seen  you  down  here  of  a  morning,  so  now  I've  found 
you." 

"That's  all  right,"  I  said.  "I  hope  you're  quite  fit 
again." 

"I  shouldn't  be  if  it  wasn't  for  you.  I'm  proud  to 
be  a  Briton  and  an  Englishman  like  you.  I  don't 
know  what  happened  myself,  but  they  told  me  how 
you  behaved.  I  call  it  heroic.  It's  my  idea  of  a 
gentleman.  I  think  you  ought  to  have  a  presentation 
saving  me  like  that.  I  can't  say  what  I  feel.  I  want 
you  to  be  on  the  free  list.  There's  a  box  for  you 
whenever  you  like  to  ask  for  it.  Inquire  for  Mr. 
Graham  Dennis  at  the  Box  Office,  he  will  look  after 
you.  I've  made  it  all  right  with  him,  so  don't  worry. 
I  hope  you'll  come  and  bring  your  friends," — he  looked 
towards  Nita.  "And  if  you  will  all  come  round  behind 
after  the  second  act,  it  will  make  us  proud  and  Miss 
Alexander  too.  My  heart  is  too  full  for  words,  and 
as  the  poet  says,  'It's  a  full  heart  that  never  rejoices/ 


188  THOMAS 

and  it  makes  me  feel  serious  all  the  time.  I'm  sure 
the  whole  company  is  indebted  to  you.  I  want  you 
to  accept  this  photograph  as  a  poor  return  for  the 
service  you  have  rendered  me,  and  I  hope  you  will 
remember  it  always." 

As  he  spoke  he  took  a  very  large  photograph  out 
of  the  envelope  and  handed  it  to  me.  It  represented 
the  speaker  dressed  in  new  clothes,  with  his  hair 
brushed  to  perfection,  standing  among  rich  furniture 
with  an  earnest,  fixed  expression,  as  though  he  had 
been  stuffed  for  exhibition. 

Across  the  lower  right-hand  corner  an  inscription 
had  been  written  in  bold  unflinching  characters : 

"Presented  by  Bert  Sutherland  of  the  Marguerite 
Light  Opera  Company  (Rosey  Posey  Limited)  with 
heartfelt  thanks  to  his  preserver,  Alfred  Williams, 
Esqre." 

I  looked  at  the  photograph  and  thanked  Mr.  Suth- 
erland, and  he  handed  me  the  envelope.  I  was  glad 
he  had  not  left  any  of  the  talking  to  me. 

"Might  I  request  a  reciprocal  gift  of  your  photo, 
sir?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't  got  any,"  I  said. 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  able  to  send  one.  I  should 
take  it  kindly,  sir.  If  you  address  to  the  agency  men- 
tioned on  this  card,  it  will  always  find  me." 

"Right.    I'll  note  it,"  I  said. 

It  was  extremely  awkward  that  Nita  should  over- 
hear everything.  It  made  me  feel  such  an  ass.  I 
was  thankful  when  Mr.  Sutherland,  with  many  bows 


MODESTY  REWARDED  189 

to  Nita  and  farewell  salutations  to  me,  moved  away 
with  his  friend. 

I  never  felt  such  a  fool  in  my  life  as  I  did  when 
he  left  us.  I  knew  Nita  was  staring  at  me.  I  was 
so  ashamed  that  when  I  tried  to  look  at  her  I  couldn't. 

Suddenly  she  jumped  up  and  hurried  after  the  two 
men,  and  engaged  them  in  conversation.  I  could  see 
the  friend,  excited  by  Mr.  Sutherland's  gesticulations, 
bound  on  to  the  stage,  thrust  the  chief  performer  aside, 
and  give  a  display  in  pantomime  with  such  energy 
that  it  was  afterwards  necessary  for  him  to  mop  his 
forehead.  At  one  moment  it  looked  as  though  Nita 
might  become  caught  in  the  vortex  of  his  enthusiasm 
and  receive  some  hurt. 

It  was  five  minutes  before  Mr.  Sutherland  and  his 
friend  walked  away.  Nita  rejoined  me  pensively 
where  I  was  digging  in  the  shingle  with  my  hands. 
She  sat  down  beside  me  without  a  word,  while  I 
worked  away. 

When  at  last  I  glanced  up  at  her  it  was  to  find 
her  looking  at  me  with  a  tooth  on  her  lip  and  eyes 
that  were  brimming  with  tears. 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter  with  you,"  I  said. 
"You're  as  bad  as  Myra." 

It  is  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  Nita  angry.  I 
couldn't  have  believed  it.  Her  whole  face  changed; 
her  eyes  drank  back  their  tears  instantly  and  blazed 
at  me.  As  I  recall  her  she  looked  rather  fine,  but 
one  felt  one  had  to  be  careful.  She  did  not  raise 
her  voice,  it  seemed  toneless.  I  can  see  her  now 


190  THOMAS 

striking  her  knee  with  the  fist  clenched  and  her  thumb 
sticking  out  in  the  ridiculous  way  women  do  it. 

"I'm  not,"  she  said.  "I'm  not.  How  dare  you 
say  a  thing  like  that  to  me.  As  if  I  cared  a  fig  about 
you  and  your  affectations.  I  was  thinking  of  that 
poor  man; — perhaps  he's  married — he  might  have 
been  drowned  if And:  Why,  what  are  you  do- 
ing?" she  exclaimed  with  a  change  of  tone. 

"Burying  Bert,"  I  said  as  I  pressed  the  wretched 
photograph  into  the  hole  and  began  to  rake  sand 
and  shingle  over  it. 

"You're  not  to — you  mustn't,"  cried  Nita.  She  fell 
forward  on  her  knees  and  began  digging  with  her 
hands.  She  was  as  active  as  a  cat.  I  tried  to  fill 
up,  but  she  forced  her  hand  down  and  got  hold  of 
the  photograph,  and  I  did  too.  It  began  to  tear.  Nita 
was  beside  herself.  She  seemed  to  sob.  I  had  to 
leave  go,  and  when  she  had  the  thing  safe  she 
scrambled  wildly  up  the  beach  with  it  like  an  animal, 
as  though  she  thought  I  was  going  to  run  after  her 
and  take  it  away.  It  was  all  most  annoying  and 
humiliating.  I  began  to  feel  angry.  I  saw  her  go 
up  to  where  Aunt  Elizabeth  was  sitting,  and  hide  the 
photograph  away  among  the  bathing  things.  Then 
she  came  back  to  me  and  sat  down. 

"I  feel  perfectly  ashamed  of  you,"  she  began.  "And 
look  here,  Thomas,  you've  got  to  send  that  poor  man 
your  photograph,  do  you  hear." 

"I  can  hear,"  I  said ;  "but  I  won't  send  it." 

"You  must,"  said  Nita.    "If  you  don't  I  shall  give 


MODESTY  REWARDED  191 

him  the  one  Aunt  Elizabeth — I  shall  ask  your  mother 
for  one  and  send  it  to  him  myself,  so  there,  Mr. 
Thomas." 

All  the  stuffing  seemed  to  go  out  of  Nita  all  of  a 
sudden  and  she  got  pink. 

"What's  the  matter  now,"  I  said.  "You're  blush- 
ing. What's  Aunt  Elizabeth  got  to  do  with  my  photo- 
graphs ?" 

"She  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  them,  and  I'm 
sure  I  don't  want  any  of  them ;  looking  so  solemn 
and  important  in  them  and  thinking  yourself  such 
a  fine  fellow,  and  snubbing  that  poor  man  who  was 
trying  his  best  to  thank  you  for  saving  his  life.  Who 
are  you  that  you  should  save  people's  lives  and  then 
put  on  a  pose  as  though  you  were  ashamed  of  having 
done  it.  I  hate  men  who  are  self-conscious  and 
affected.  They  are  not  men  at  all.  That  poor  Mr. 
Sutherland  is  twice  the  man  you  are.  He  is  a  human 
being  at  any  rate." 

I  felt  I  had  been  punished  enough,  one  way  and 
another,  for  pulling  the  blighter  out  of  the  water, 
so  I  got  up  and  left  Nita  to  talk  to  herself  if  she 
wanted  to  hear  her  own  voice. 

As  I  stood  I  said:  "Well,  you've  taught  me  one 
lesson  at  any  rate.  Just  go  in  now,  and  begin  to 
drown,  and  see  if  I  will  pull  you  out.  I  shall  just 
sit  up  there  talking  to  Aunt  Elizabeth  as  if  nothing 
was  happening." 

As  I  chatted  with  Aunt  Elizabeth  I  could  see  Nita 
supporting  herself  with  one  arm,  while  with  the  other 


192  THOMAS 

she  tossed  pebbles  down  the  beach;  and  so  she  re- 
mained for  nearly  half  an  hour,  until  Aunt  Elizabeth 
asked  me  to  call  to  her  that  it  was  time  to  go  home. 

I  can't  understand  the  woman.  There  must  be 
something  wrong  with  her.  She  was  rather  flushed 
at  lunch  and  hardly  spoke,  and  once,  I  declare,  was 
nearly  in  tears  again. 

After  lunch  she  came  to  me  quietly  in  the  garden 
and  said  softly,  "Here  you  are,  Thomas,"  and 
handed  me  the  detested  envelope  with  the  torn  edge. 

"Thanks,"  I  said. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"Bury  it." 

Nita  cast  her  eyes  to  the  ground  in  silence. 

"What  else  can  I  do,"  I  wailed.  "Do  you  expect 
me  to  frame  the  wretched  thing,  or  wear  it  round 
my  neck  like  an  order?  What  can  I  do  with  it?  If 
I  hide  it,  some  one  will  find  it.  If  I  lock  it  away,  it 
will  be  dragged  out  after  I  am  dead,  or  I  shall  forget 
it  and  come  upon  it  unawares  and  have  a  fit.  How 
can  I  do  anything  with  it  but  destroy  it?" 

Nita  had  nothing  to  say. 

"Now  look  here,  Nita,  you  haven't  been  very  nice 
to  me  today,"  I  went  on;  "you  shall  be  parson  and 
crumble  the  earth,  while  I  do  the  sexton's  job." 

Nita  smiled  faintly  and  we  went  round  beyond 
the  shrubbery,  and  I  got  a  trowel  from  the  potting 
shed.  Just  as  I  was  beginning  to  dig,  Nita  exclaimed : 

"Oh,  don't  bury  it,  Thomas,  you'll  spoil  it!  Do 
let  me  keep  it." 


MODESTY  REWARDED  193 

"Well,  you  really  are  the  most  ridiculous  girl  I 
ever  heard  of.  What  perfect  folly !  Keep  it !  You'll 
compromise  yourself  dragging  about  a  photograph  the 
size  of  a  chess-board  with  you  wherever  you  go.  The 
thing's  impossible.  It  must  be  destroyed." 

"No,  no,"  pleaded  Nita.  "Not  yet.  Let  me  keep 
it;  for  a  little." 

She  appeared  to  clasp  the  thing  in  her  arms  as 
she  spoke. 

"But  what  do  you  want  to  do  with  it?" 

"Only  keep  it." 

"Keep  it!" 

"Yes,  Thomas,  that's  all." 

"Well,"  I  sighed  in  utter  perplexity,  "I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  agree,  but  you  must  lock  it  up  and  not 
show  it  to  a  soul:  promise?" 

"All  right,"  said   Nita,   in  a  very  doubtful  voice, 

"Why!     What's  the  matter  now?" 

"Well,  will  you  let  me  show  it  to  Myra?" 

"No,  I  will  not.  It's  too  bad  of  you  trying  to 
make  a  fool  of  me  like  this.  It  must  go  to  its 
funeral.  You  will  show  it  to  my  mother,  and  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  fly  the  country." 

"No,  no.  Never  to  her,  Thomas,"  Nita  said 
earnestly. 

"It  won't  do,  old  girl.  It  must  be  buried.  So 
come  on.  Be  nice  and  help  me.  Why  don't  you 
ask  Bert  to  inscribe  one  of  his  photographs  for  you? 
He'd  do  it  like  a  shot." 

So  we  buried  Bert  and  trod  him  well  down,  and 


194  THOMAS 

smoothed  the  earth  over  him  and  left  him  to  rot. 

"Feel  better?"  I  asked  her  as  we  walked  away. 
But  Nita  made  no  reply. 

There  is  no  release  from  Mr.  Sutherland  for  me. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Ferdinand  handed  me  a 
copy  of  the  Bourncombe  Advertiser,  and  pointed  to  a 
paragraph. 

"Read  that,"  he  said  with  a  grin. 

"THE   MODESTY   OF   VALOR 

LOCAL    HEHOISM    BY    A    BOURNCOMBE    GENTLEMAN 
'TOO    MODEST   BY    HALF* 

The  act  of  local  heroism  which  we  reported  in  our  last 
issue  and  by  which  the  life  of  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland  has 
been  preserved  to  the  Marguerite  Light  Opera  Com- 
pany, gives  an  interesting  example  of  what  has  been  so 
aptly  described  as  the  'Modesty  of  Valor.'  It  appears 
that  the  gentleman  who  rescued  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland 
at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  and  who  led  our  representa- 
tive to  understand  that  his  name  was  Alfred  Williams, 
Esq.,  of  Edinburgh,  a  visitor  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  proves 
to  be  none  other  than  Mr.  Thomas  Alphonse  Grinn,  a 
nephew  of  Lady  Wilson,  relic  of  the  late  General  Sir 
Edward  Wilson,  K.C.B.,  who  resides  at  the  Pond  House, 
Pond  Lane,  Old  Town.  We  owe  this  information  to 
Mr.  Bert  Sutherland  himself  who  has  been  indefatigable 
in  tracking  down  his  preserver.  Mr.  Grinn  is  to  be  con- 
gratulated on  his  manly  British  qualities,  and  we  are 
glad  that  we  may  claim  him  as  a  resident  and  add  his 
name  to  the  long  list  of  local  heroes  of  which  Bourn- 
combe  is  so  justly  proud." 


MODESTY  REWARDED  195 

While  I  was  reading  the  stuff  Myra  joined  us  with 
rather  a  subdued  air. 

"We'd  better  not  let  Aunt  Elizabeth  see  this,"  I 
said  as  I  finished. 

"She  has  seen  it,"  said  Myra.  "The  cook  showed 
it  to  her.  No,  don't  go  in  to  her  now,"  she  con- 
tinued, detaining  me.  "She's  very  much  upset.  But 
it's  all  right.  Nita  is  with  her." 

"Nita!"  I  cried.  "Why  the  whole  thing  is  Nita's 
doing!  If  it  had  not  been  for  her,  no  one  need 
have  known  anything  about  it.  I'll  never  pull  any- 
one out  of  the  water  again.  A  fellow  like  this 
Sutherland  ought  to  be  drowned.  It's  what  the  sea 
is  for." 

I  was  thoroughly  annoyed,  I  admit. 

"But  why  is  Aunt  Elizabeth  upset?"  I  asked.  "She 
would  naturally  be  vexed;  but  there's  no  reason  why 
she  should  be  upset." 

"She  doesn't  like  being  called  a  relic,"  said  Myra 
gravely. 

We  looked  at  each  other  with  blank  faces. 

"By  Jove!"  I  exclaimed  as  an  idea  struck  me,  "I 
can  get  a  little  bit  back  anyhow" — and  I  went  to  the 
writing-table  and  wrote  as  follows: 

"POND  HOUSE, 

OLD  TOWN. 
To  the  Editor, 

The  Bourncombe  Advertiser. 
SIR, 

As  you  consider  that  I  am  not  entitled  to  the 


196  THOMAS 

anonymity  I  thought  I  might  venture  to  claim  in  a 
private  matter  which  concerned  no  one  but  Mr.  Bert 
Sutherland  and  myself,  may  I  express  the  hope  that 
Bourncombe  Residents  and  Visitors  will  acclaim  your 
announcement  that  I  am  'too  modest  by  half,'  and 
that  they  will  not  allow  their  own  modesty  to  inter- 
fere with  the  early  return  to  me  of  my  watch,  watch- 
chain  and  pencil-case,  and  three  pounds  ten  in  gold, 
which  disappeared  from  the  pockets  of  my  waistcoat 
while  I  was  advertising  myself  in  the  sea? 

Your  obedient  Servant, 

T.  ALPHONSE  GRINN." 

It  is  not  often  one  has  a  chance  of  insulting  a 
whole  town  at  one  go,  and  I  felt  much  nicer  after 
writing  the  letter.  It  was  duly  published  but  I  never 
got  back  my  property,  although  I  had  previously  put 
the  police  on  the  track  of  it. 

As  I  rose  from  the  table  Nita  came  in. 

"She's  better  now.  It's  best  to  leave  her  alone," 
she  said  as  I  left  the  room. 

When  I  reached  the  drawing-room  I  found  the 
dear  old  soul  crouching  in  a  chair.  She  tried  to  pull 
herself  together  when  I  came  in,  and  I  sat  down 
beside  her  and  made  love  to  her.  She  likes  it. 

"I  never  thought  I  should  live  to  be  called  a  'relic' 
in  a  newspaper,"  she  murmured  while  she  dabbed  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"They  mean  relict,"  I  said ;  "everyone  will  under- 
stand that.  It's  quite  a  different  thing.  It's  a  legal 


MODESTY  REWARDED  197 

term  like   spinster,  only  much  nicer.     It's   a  great 
compliment  to  be  called  a  relict." 

"And  to  call  him  Sir  Edward  1"  she  complained. 
"As  if  everyone  did  not  know  his  name.  The  dear 
General!  Is  this  his  country's  gratitude  to  him,  after 
fourteen  medals  and  the  White  Elephant  of  Siam?"" 

"The  paper's  an  absurdity,"  I  said.  "No  one  ever 
bothers  about  what  it  says." 

"And  why  do  they  call  you  Mr.  Grinn?"  Aunt 
Elizabeth  asked  me  indignantly.  "I  never  heard  such 
a  name.  I'm  sure  no  sister  of  mine  would  have  mar- 
ried a  man  with  a  name  like  that.  Grinn  indeed  !'r 

"Well,"  I  said,  "it's  not  my  doing.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  Nita  no  one  would  have  known  anything; 
about  it." 

"But  you  saved  this  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland  from  the 
sea?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  pulled  him  out." 

"I  wish  you  would  let  other  people  do  these  things,"" 
the  old  lady  complained  gently.  "It's  so  very  un- 
pleasant getting  into  the  papers,  and  being  told  one 
is  a  relic  with  a  nephew  named  Grinn —  really  I  don't 
know  what  things  are  coming  to." 

"It's  annoying,"  I  said,  "and  I'm  sure  everyone  will 
be  very  sorry  for  you." 

"But  I  don't  want  anyone  to  be  sorry  for  me,'r 
whimpered  Aunt  Elizabeth,  again  overcome. 

We  had  a  dreary  tea.  Nita  tried  to  be  playful  but 
I  would  not  respond. 

I  got  away  with  a  book  into  the  garden  as  soon 


198  THOMAS 

as  I  could.  Soon  afterwards  Nita  came  out  and  began 
picking  flowers.  As  she  drifted  casually  down  in  my 
direction  I  watched  her.  She  is  a  graceful  creature, 
when  one  comes  to  think  of  it.  One  can  readily 
understand  poor  old  Bill  going  crazy  over  her.  I 
think  her  special  charm  is  her  intense  femininity.  All 
her  lines  are  fine  and  delicate  and  she  stands  like  an 
arrow,  or  like  one  of  those  girls,  in  pictures,  carrying 
vases  on  their  heads.  But  she  is  not  angular.  She 
flows  all  over  in  soft  curves  when  she  moves.  I 
•watched  her  as  she  reached  for  rose  blooms  high  on 
the  wall,  and  stood  poised  for  a  moment  as  she  listened 
to  something  Myra  said  to  her  from  the  open  window. 
I  was  very  much  annoyed  with  her,  but  it  was  im- 
possible to  feel  angry  with  anything  so  pretty  and 
so  gracious.  I  meant  to  have  it  out  with  her  how- 
ever, and  I  did  not  enjoy  the  prospect;  yet  it  was 
somehow  a  pleasure  to  feel  she  was  coming  nearer 
and  nearer.  There  is  something  appealing  in  all 
women  to  me:  when  they  have  charm,  I  mean.  I 
was  perfectly  aware  that  Nita  knew  what  she  was 
in  for,  and  that  this  flower-picking  business  was  her 
dodge  for  sidling  up  to  me.  I  felt  I  should  like  to 
take  her  and  give  her  two  slaps,  like  a  child,  and 
then  kiss  her  and  forget  all  about  it,  and  go  on  as  if 
nothing  had  happened. 

She  knew  I  was  looking  at  her:  I  meant  her  to 
know;  but  she  pretended  to  be  absorbed  in  making 
her  nosegay.  Then  she  suddenly  turned  and  beamed 
on  me  like  the  little  rogue  she  is. 


MODESTY  REWARDED  199 

"Come  here,"  I  said. 

She  took  no  notice  for  a  minute,  but  seemed  intent 
on  completing  her  posy.  Then  she  sat  down  on  the 
seat  beside  me  and  began  coaxing  and  arranging  the 
blossoms  in  her  hand. 

It  was  quite  pleasant,  somehow,  having  her  there. 
I  never  quite  realized  till  that  moment  what  an  ap- 
pealing sort  of  woman  Nita  is.  The  sunlight  hummed 
with  life  and  slanted  in  upon  her  as  she  sat  under 
the  tree;  and  was  reflected  from  the  crimson  roses 
to  tint  her  face,  while  she  was  bathed  in  their  scent. 
I  could  not  feel  vexed  with  such  a  pretty  picture. 
She  knew  exactly  what  was  passing  in  my  mind,  I 
swear,  as  she  pulled  the  blooms  into  place  with  a  great 
show  of  preoccupation  while  I  gazed  at  her. 

"Nita,"  I  said,  "why  don't  you  get  married?" 

"Oh,  I've  had  enough  of  being  married!"  said  she 
without  looking  up. 

"Bosh !  Dont  you  believe  that ;  and  don't  be  down- 
hearted." 

"No  one  will  have  me,"  she  smiled  at  her  flowers. 

"That's  bosh  too;  you're  fishing  for  compliments. 
I  know  half  a  dozen." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  be,  and  that's  my  business, 
so  don*t  be  cheeky,  Mr.  Thomas.  Perhaps  the  right 
man  hasn't  come  my  way  yet." 

"How  would  Bat  do?  His  engagement  is  off,  he 
tells  me." 

Nita  burst  out  laughing. 

"Oh  dear!"  she  said. 


200  THOMAS 

"Well  now!    Why  not?" 

"Why,"  said  Nita,  "as  soon  as  he  married  me 
he'd  be  off  after  somebody  else — that's  why.  He  even 
began  making  up  to  Myra.  He  quite  annoyed  her.  I 
was  too  many  for  him,"  she  laughed. 

"That's  only  Bat's  fun,"  I  said.    "It  amuses  him." 

"Well,  it  didn't  amuse  Myra  one  bit,  and  I  like 
wen" 

"Don't  be  down  on  Bat,"  I  said.  "He's  a  dear 
•old  thing:  one  of  the  very  best.  I  suppose  your  stand- 
ard of  manhood  has  risen  since  your  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland." 

"Don't  be  spiteful,"  Nita  rejoined.  "And  remem- 
ber you've  got  to  send  him  one  of  your  photographs 
or  I  shall  be  very  much  annoyed  with  you." 

"I  don't  care  a  fig  whether  you're  annoyed  with 
me  or  not;  but  I've  got  something  io  say  to  you, 
lady  I  want  you  to  drop  this  sort  of  possessive 
attitude  you've  taken  up  of  late.  We've  been  good 
pals,  but  I  don't  know  why  you  should  act  as  if  I 
ought  to  be,  and  behave,  just  as  you  think.  I  never 
saw  such  a  woman.  You're  only  a  kind  of  step-niece, 
and  yet  if  you  were  my  elder  sister  you  could  not 
assume  more  t  /ourself.  I'm  getting  fed  up  with  it. 
You  seem  to  forget,  too,  that  you're  extremely  rude 
sometimes." 

"I  don't  mean  to  be,  Thomas.  It's  because  I  speak 
without  thinking.  I'm  always  very  sorry  after- 
wards." 

"Yes,  all  right ;  but  you  go  on  doing  what  I  object 


MODESTY  REWARDED  201 

to,  and  interfere  in  things  that  are  no  sort  of  con- 
cern of  yours.  Look  what  an  upset  you've  brought 
about  with  this  paragraph  in  the  paper." 

"It's  not  my  fault,"  said  Nita  pleadingly.  "I 
couldn't  stand  by  and  see  that  poor  man  made  ridicu- 
lous. Alfred  Williams  indeed!  Besides,  I  gave  him 
your  name  quite  right  and  he  wrote  it  down,  and  I 
told  him  'Edmund'  and  not  Edward';  and  as  for 
'relict'  I  never  use  the  word." 

"It  was  obliging  of  you  to  make  the  most  of  the 
Alphonse,  when  you  know  I  detest  the  name  and 
always  sink  it." 

"You're  the  vainest  man  I  ever  met,"  said  Nita. 
"You're  even  ashamed  of  your  own  name.  Why 
don't  you  call  yourself  'Dante  Gabriel'  or  something, 
and  have  done  with  it  ?  I  am  not  responsible  for  your 
name." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I've  given  you  fair  warning,  so 
look  out." 

"Look  out  for  what?" 

"What  will  happen  if  you  don't  change  your 
tactics." 

"Tactics!  What  do  you  mean  by  'tactics'?  How 
dare  you  say  a  thing  like  that !" 

Her  eyes  blazed  at  me.  Then  she  turned  away 
and  looked  straight  in  front  of  her  for  a  moment 
with  a  wild  terrified  expression.  Suddenly,  she  got 
up  and  hurried  away  to  the  house.  As  she  rose,  I 
heard  her  say  under  her  breath :  "I  hate  you." 

I  was  absolutely  taken  aback.    I  sat  as  she  left  me 


202  THOMAS 

and  felt  numb  and  sick.  The  girl  must  be  going 
crazy.  What  had  I  said?  Nothing  at  all;  I  had 
uttered  nothing  but  a  mild,  reasoned  protest.  It  was 
much  less  than  what  I  had  intended  to  say. 

And  all  this  bother  has  come  about  from  my  pulling 
a  fellow  out  of  the  water  who  was  drowning  because 
he  pretended  to  be  able  to  swim  when  he  couldn't. 
If  I  see  Mr.  Bert  Sutherland  I  feel  I  shall  let  my- 
self go,  and  give  him  a  swift  kick  such  as  will  keep 
him  out  of  the  cast  of  Rosey  Posey  Limited  for 
reasons  that  he  will  not  feel  inclined  to  advertise. 
The  fellow,  I  notice,  is  represented  all  over  the  town 
by  colored  posters  of  some  other  actor  wrapped  in  a 
blanket,  and  squinting  down  his  nose  at  a  banana  held 
in  the  mouth,  which  he  is  trying  to  light  at  a  carrot. 
I  had  no  right  to  interfere  with  the  provisions  of  the 
great  unknown  which  had  decreed  that  it  was  fitting 
he  should  die  by  his  own  folly.  I  admit  my  error. 
I  will  make  any  reparation  in  my  power  when  oppor- 
tunity arises,  and  it  will  be  an  unlucky  day  for  Mr. 
Bert  Sutherland  when  he  meets  me  anywhere  alone 
in  the  dark.  That  is  how  I  feel  about  the  matter  at 
this  moment. 

However,  I  shall  probably  never  see  him  again, 
as  I  have  told  Aunt  Elizabeth  I  must  be  off  to  pay 
outstanding  visits  tomorrow.  I  can't  face  any  more 
of  the  racket.  My  holiday  is  being  quite  spoiled. 
Nita  left  her  flowers  on  the  seat,  and  I  carried  them 
in  and  gave  them  to  her.  She  took  them  without  a 
word.  She  looked  pale. 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  203 

She  appeared  at  supper  after  we  were  all  seated. 
She  was  in  the  blues  and  no  mistake  about  it.  When 
Ferdinand  and  I  went  to  the  drawing-room  after  our 
smoke,  she  was  not  there.  Myra  explained  that  she 
had  letters  to  write,  but  she  did  not  appear  again. 


CHAPTER  XII 
SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY 

THIS  morning,  before  I  left,  I  got  a  letter  from 
my  mother. 

"My  own  dear  Son,"  she  begins.  She  addresses  me 
in  this  form,  I  always  think,  with  the  idea  of  dis- 
guising from  herself  that  I  am  not  her  son. 

"Mv  OWN  DEAR  SON, 

You  will  be  glad,  I  know,  to  hear  that  Mrs. 
Graham  has  written  to  say  how  delighted  they  all 
were  with  your  visit,  and  she  is  most  anxious  you 
should  go  and  stay?  at  Hildon  again  before  your 
holiday  ends.  Of  course,  I  wrote  and  told  her  that 
I  knew  you  would  be  only  too  delighted,  so  be  sure 
and  write  to  let  her  know  when  to  expect  you." 

After  touching  on  one  or  two  home  matters  the 
letter  ends :  "P.  S.  Have  you  read  of  Miss  Padlow's 
engagement  !  !  !  " 

My  mother  certainly  writes  teasing  letters.  I  sup- 
pose that  repeated  touches  in  the  same  nerve  make 

204 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  205 

me  sensitive:  certainly,  after  reading  this  over,  I 
felt  like  a  horse  maddened  by  the  spur;  and  yet  I 
know  that  my  mother's  intention  is  to  make  an  in- 
sensible appeal,  merely,  which  shall  quicken  my  aspira- 
tions and  render  it  easy  for  me  to  accept  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham's hospitality.  It  seems  to  me  that  she  might 
as  well  try  to  make  a  shy  dog  fond  of  the  water  by 
repeatedly  throwing  him  into  the  sea.  No  one  would 
trouble  to  tell  me  of  Miss  Padlow's  engagement,  and 
Mrs.  Graham  certainly  did  not  write  in  such  terms 
as  those  in  which  my  mother  expresses  her. 

Another  letter  I  got  this  morning  was  the  Double 
Minute  from  the  office,  this  time  correctly  filled  in, 
and  it  is  beside  me  now  completed,  with  "observa- 
tions" explaining  my  prolonged  absence.  My 
observations  don't  read  as  plausibly  as  I  could  wish. 
The  diction  demanded  in  official  comunications  makes 
it  difficult  to  present  one's  arguments  attractively. 

"I  have,  further,  the  honor  to  acquaint  you,"  I 
write,  "that  Bank  Holiday,  falling  within  the  term 
of  my  leave,  has  been  deducted  by  me,  as  the  day 
is  a  public  holiday  enforceable  by  law,  and  pre- 
sumably, cannot  be  included  as  one  of  those  working 
days  in  respect  of  which  my  leave  is  to  be  computed." 

There  is  going  to  be  a  row,  I'm  afraid ;  but,  any- 
how, they  can't  make  it  a  serious  matter,  as  I  was 
careful  to  follow  strictly  the  letter  of  the  rules.  It's 
the  wording  of  the  rules  that  is  at  fault,  and  not 
me. 

Yet  a  third  letter  I  had  this  morning,  but  it  did 


206  THOMAS 

not  come  by  post.  It  was  handed  me  privately  by 
Myra,  who  looked  at  me  with  great  glowing  eyes  as 
she  gave  it  to  me,  and  asked  me  not  to  open  it  till 
I  had  left  Bourncombe.  Myra  has  gradually  worked 
up  to  the  point  of  treating  me  like  a  son.  She  was 
warm  and  intimate  in  her  farewell.  It  was  as  though 
there  were  some  special  ground  for  a  confidential 
understanding  between  us.  Aunt  Elizabeth  grunted 
her  salutations  and  told  me  to  mind  and  not  run  into 
the  ditch.  She  thinks  it  her  duty  to  find  pretext  for 
shaking  a  warning  finger  at  me  on  all  conspicuous 
occasions.  Nita  gave  me  a  rather  careless  good-bye. 

The  first  thing  Susan  did  when  we  got  clear  of  the 
place  was  to  drop  her  silencer,  so  that  it  dragged  on 
the  road.  She  did  it  right  in  front  of  a  Daimlerful 
of  theatrical  ladies,  with  a  "golliwog"  on  the  radiator 
cap,  and  I  never  felt  more  ashamed  in  all  my  life. 
Susan  looks  rather  a  little  frump  beside  these  great 
glittering  modern  cars.  In  order  to  appreciate  her 
properly  you  want  to  see  her  alone. 

I  slung  the  silencer  up  with  wire  and  then  got  out 
Myra's  letter: — "Mv  DEAR  COUSIN  THOMAS,"  writes 
the  forward  girl,  "I  think  you  ought  to  know  that 
Nita  is  very  much  troubled  at  something  that  passed 
between  you  the  other  evening.  She  seems  to  be 
more  sorry  for  her  own  part  in  it  than  vexed  with 
you,  but  I  think  that  you  must,  unintentionally,  have 
hurt  her  feelings  in  some  way.  She  is  such  a  dear, 
and  I  am  so  fond  of  her,  that  I  am  sure  you  will 
not  mind  my  writing  to  you.  I  need  hardly  say 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  207 

that  Nita  has  no  idea  of  what  I  am  doing,  and  would 
be  annoyed  with  me  if  she  knew.  She  has  not  many 
friends  in  England,  and,  naturally,  values  your  friend- 
ship, as  I  happen  to  know. 

Ever  yours  sincerely, 

M.  H." 

The  way  women  write  letters,  that  have  absolutely 
no  point  whatever,  is  extraordinary.  I  couldn't  make 
head  or  tail  of  this  one;  it  did  not  tell  me  anything 
nor  ask  anything  of  me.  If  Nita  is  in  the  dumps  it  is 
her  own  fault,  but  I  am  not  able  to  write  and  tell  her 
so,  and  cheer  her  up,  because  if  I  did  I  should  give 
Myra  away.  Anyhow,  I  have  just  written  to  Myra, 
and  a  very  nice  letter  too,  considering  all  I  have  had 
to  put  up  with;  although  I  say  it. 

"DEAR  MYRA, 

I  didn't  mind  your  writing  to  me  a  bit.  Sorry 
Nita  has  got  the  pip,  but  she  will  cheer  up  again  all 
right.  She  need  not  think  she  is  in  my  black  books. 
Of  course  she  isn't.  She  is  a  very  good  sort,  Nita  is, 
and  I  really  don't  think  anything  of  what  she  said,  so 
you  had  better  tell  her.  Never  build  yourself  a  house. 
The  Waterburys  have  started  one,  and  it  seems  to  be 
getting  on  Cousin  Jane's  nerves.  I  shall  stay  here 
three  days  if  I  can  stick  it.  ..." 

Why  Lady  Jane  wants  to  build,  I  can't  imagine. 
Langdon  Hill  is  a  spacious  old  house  of  mellowed 


208  THOMAS 

brick  gables  and  ruddy-brown  panelling;  and  you 
look  from  the  terraced  gardens  over  rolling  gorse 
and  heath  to  Poole  Harbor,  with  Branksea  Castle  set 
in  the  eye  of  the  sun  like  a  picture  postcard. 

The  Waterburys  are  a  quaint  couple.  They  are 
childless,  and  live  together  like  brother  and  sister. 
Lady  Jane  found  Singe  at  the  American  Embassy. 
Heckfield  told  me  he  was  popular,  and  a  man  who 
would  have  gone  far  if  mature  Cousin  Jane  had  not 
twitched  him  out  of  his  niche,  and  carried  him  off  to 
Hampshire  to  spend  his  life  yachting  and  otter-hunt- 
ing with  her.  Cousin  Jane  is  a  real  good  sort,  but 
voluble  and  impetuous,  and,  on  occasions,  so  frank 
as  to  embarrass  everyone.  Her  trick  of  rapping  out 
a  cuss-word  when  excited,  I  attribute  to  her  having 
been  brought  up  in  her  father's  stables.  She  can  be 
truly  astonishing.  'She  is  a  short,  sturdy,  homely, 
hard-bitten  woman,  who  never  was  a  beauty,  and 
scorned  to  pretend  she  was ;  but  she  used  to  ride  as 
straight  as  anyone,  and  still  handles  the  tiller  like  a 
man.  Her  face  is  rounder  and  redder  every  time  I 
see  her — she  now  looks  as  though  she  shaved  over  a 
bucket  in  the  yard — and,  ever  since  I  can  remember, 
she  has  worn  her  hair,  in  defiance  of  fashions,  strained 
back  to  a  bright,  clean,  knob  behind  her  head.  She 
used,  at  one  time,  to  wear  in  the  evenings,  as  a  con- 
cession to  the  amenities  of  sex,  a  diamond  butterfly, 
or  a  bow,  perched  on  this  knob. 

Just  as  we  drew  up  at  the  front  door,  Singe  Water- 
bury,  as  large  as  life,  came  round  the  corner  of  the 


SINGE  WATERBOTY'S  WAY  209 

house  with  his  easy,  spacious,  long-limbed  air.  He 
was  dressed,  just  as  I  have  always  known  him,  in 
dark  coat  and  check  trousers  and  shady  hat.  He 
stood,  when  he  saw  me,  with  his  fingers  pushed  down 
into  his  fobs,  rolling  a  cigar  in  his  wide,  genial  mouth. 
Then  he  took  the  cigar  from  his  lips  and  strolled  up. 
"Well,  Cousin,"  he  said,  "didn't  know  you  were 
knocking  around  here.  Statistics  worked  out — eh? 
Thought  you  were  the  Stores." 
I  told  him  I  was  on  a  tour. 

He  made  a  playful  signal  with  his  finger:  "Watch 
me  bolt  your  Cousin  Jane  out  the  door,"  he  said. 

He  went  to  the  entrance  and  called  into  the  house. 
"Say,  Jane ;  there's  the  Stores  or  something  out  here." 
He  listened  for  a  moment,  then  nodded  to  me.  In 
three  seconds  Cousin  Jane  ran  out  on  to  the  steps. 
When  she  saw  me  she  checked  and  stared. 

"How  can  you  be  so  childish,  Singe?"  she  said,  as 
she  came  down  to  greet  me. 

"I  am  building  a  house,  Thomas,"  she  explained, 
"and  the  Stores  have  promised  to  send ;  but  they  keep 
putting  off  and  putting  off,  although  the  work  is 
much  behind-hand,  and  the  foreman  sending  away  all 
the  sand  again,  and  the  men  kicking  a  bucket  about  in- 
stead of  attending  to  their  business.  However,  they 
have  promised  to  send  to-morrow,  and  I  thought  you 
were  the  man."  She  turned  and  clapped  her  hands 
and  "shoo'd"  at  Singe,  "You  old  wretch,"  she  said. 

"But  what  have  the  Stores  got  to  do  with  it?"  I 
asked,  mystified. 


210  THOMAS 

"Oh,  the  Stores  do  it  all !"  said  Cousin  Jane.  "You 
simply  tell  the  Stores,  and  they  have  bricks  and  archi- 
tects and  everything,  and  it  would  be  no  trouble 
whatever  if  only  the  Stores  would  send.  But  they 
won't,  and  they  give  me  a  lot  of  trouble  in  conse- 
quence. Now  where  have  you  come  from?  Are  you 
staying  near  by  ?" 

I  told  her  I  was  on  the  road  from  Bourncombe. 
The  old  girl  tumbled  to  the  idea  at  once. 

"Well,  you  will  stay  for  a  few  days,  won't  you, 
Thomas?  It  must  be  two  years  since  we  saw  you. 
I  will  get  you  to  talk  to  Mr.  Pentland,  or  whoever  it 
is,  when  he  comes  to-morrow;  and  help  me  tell  the 
foreman.  He  is  dreadfully  obstinate,  and  Singe  is 
no  use  at  all.  He  spends  all  his  time  with  the  garden- 
ers." 

Cousin  Singe  had  seated  himself  by  my  side  and 
he  showed  me  the  way  round  to  the  stables.  Then 
he  took  me  to  the  gardens. 

He  is  a  man  who  seems  able  to  spend  his  whole 
life  resting.  I  always  remember  him  as  strolling  about 
in  check  trousers ;  or  looking  on  at  an  otter  hunt ;  or 
lying  on  the  deck  of  a  scudding  yacht,  with  his  cap 
tilted  over  his  eyes :  yet  his  thin  handsome  face  is  full 
of  fire  and  energy,  though  it  looks  seamed  and  prema- 
turely old.  In  point  of  fact,  I  have  no  idea  how  old 
he  is.  He  might  be  any  age  between  forty  and  sixty. 
He  never  seems  to  have  moods,  but  to  be  always  in 
a  state  of  meditative  enjoyment.  He  never  laughs  out, 
and  you  don't  know  exactly  when  he  is  serious  or 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  211 

when  joking.  For  some  reason  he  always  uses  his 
most  mystifying  slang  when  speaking  to  me. 

"Why  does  Jane  want  another  house?"  I  asked  him 
as  we  walked  along  the  Terrace. 

"f  you  get  into  close  cauc  -  with  her,  Cousin, 
she'll  let  out  her  squeak  all  right,  and  after  that  you'll 
know  less  than  you  do  now.  We  shan't  bide  there." 
He  shook  his  head,  and  looked  at  me.  Then  he 
stopped  and  took  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth. 

"You  English  don't  appreciate  your  own  country," 
he  said.  "For  business — well,  I  like  America;  but 
for  play — holiday-time!"  He  threw  out  his  hands. 
"I  tell  you,  Cousin,  I  stand  here — yes,  after  fifteen 
years — and  it  melts  me  every  time.  We'd  go  fair 
crazy  in  th'  States  'f  we  could  wave  a  thing  like  this. 
It's  beyond  price.  Look  at  that  house!  Four  hun- 
dred years  it's  stood  there — and  history  hustling  along 
all  the  time — four  hundred  years!  Think  of  it!  And 
those  bricks  yonder !  It  takes  centuries  of  sunlight  to 
put  on  a  color  like  that,  and  you  English  would  tear 
'em  down  and  pitch  'em  into  the  sea  soon  as  not. 
Look  at  these  old  stones  on  the  wall  where  you're  sit- 
ting: think  of  the  generations  of  your  race  that  have 
leant  upon  them,  and  all  the  pretty  English  girls  that 
have  looked  out  yonder  to  your  English  Channel  in 
the  sunset,  and  had  love  made  to  them,  sitting  just 
where  you're  hunched  now.  You  folks  don't  under- 
stand these  things,  Cousin.  When  you've  been  out  of 
the  country  for  two — three  generations — they  all  come 
back  and  roost  with  you.  That's  so." 


212  THOMAS 

"But  that's  exactly  why  I  can't  understand  Cousin 
Jane  wanting  another  house,"  I  told  him. 

"Well,  Thomas,  your  cousin's  not  been  very  well 
lately,"  he  said,  as  we  walked  from  the  garden  into 
a  woodland  path,  where  the  ruddy  boles  of  the  fir 
trees  stood  knee-deep  among  the  bracken.  "Jane's 
fretting  for  the  vote.  She's  getting  turrible  logical. 
She  finished  with  'Why  should  the  man  who  blacks 
my  boots,  vote'  long  way  back.  She's  used  up  that 
old  stunt,  and  quotes  John  Stuart  Mill  now.  I  don't 
argue  it.  I  just  sniff  my  nose,  and  I  say,  right  out 
loud,  women  ought  to  vote;  they  ought  to  be  encour- 
aged to  vote ;  let  them  have  two  votes  if  they  want — 
three,  if  they're  set  for  it." 

"Three  votes!" 

"Sure." 

"But  why?" 

"High  Politics." 

"I  don't  understand,"  I  said.  "What  are  High 
Politics?" 

"Well,  Cousin,  it  isn't  the  voting  that  hurts,  is  it?" 
He  said  over  his  shoulder  as  he  walked  on  before  me : 
"It's  counting  the  votes.  Well,  don't  count!  That's 
what  they  call  High  Politics,  and  I  guess  they  are 
so.  It's  what  the  niggers  get  in  th'  States." 

"But  I  don't  see  why  wanting  a  vote  should  make 
Cousin  Jane  build  a  house,"  I  said. 

"No,  Cousin?  Well,  as  I  say,  your  Cousin  Jane 
is  getting  turrible  logical.  She  needs  to  have  some- 
thing to  pacify  her,  and  if  old  Bill  Dawson,  the  fore- 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  213 

man,  is  going  to  do  it  for  her,  well — that  suits — hey?" 
He  turned  and  looked  at  me  gravely.  He's  an  odd 
chap.  Then  he  said : 

"You're  not  going  to  get  married,  Cousin — are 
you?" 

"No,"  I  said. 

"No.  Well,  you're  a  wise  cousin.  You  stay  right 
there,  Thomas.  Don't  quit.  Keep  your  shoulders 
square,  and  if  a  girl  blows  a  kiss,  just  rubber  around 
at  the  chimney-pots.  When  you  see  one  coming  down 
the  side-walk  hike  across  the  street  right  away.  You 
just  keep  busy,  so,  until  you  feel  good  and  safe,  and 
then — they'll  crawl  up  the  vent  flues  to  get  at  you 
while  you're  saying  your  prayers."  He  walked  before 
me  down  the  narrow  path. 

"I  know  you're  joking,"  I  said,  "but  I  don't  find 
that  girls  throw  themselves  at  one — except,"  I  added, 
as  I  remembered  little  Nibbs,  "when  I  don't  like 
them." 

Singe  stopped  again  and  turned  round. 

"Sure,"  he  said.  "It's  so,  Cousin.  If  you  want 
a  pretty  girl  come  jump  into  your  lap — don't  observe 
her,  Thomas.  Don't  recollect  what  she's  for;  just 
go  and  ask  her  the  time  and  make  a  quick  get  away. 
Soap  her  up  that  way,  Cousin,  and  in  a  week  you  may 
wear  her  in  your  hat  like  a  feather.  It's  right  here," 
he  broke  off. 

"The  new  house?" 

"Sure." 

"I  should  like  to  see  it,"  I  said. 


214  THOMAS 

"Spy  round,  Cousin,  and  you'll  see  all  there  is.  Way 
down  yonder.  I'm  shy.  I'm  waiting.  Guess  they'll 
whistle  me  before  the  flag  goes  up.  You'll  see  a  clear- 
ing and  a  near-by  shack."  He  strolled  slowly  on. 

A  hundred  yards  or  so  brought  me  to  a  crescent 
of  open  ground  cleared  at  the  margin  of  the  wood, 
and  here  I  found  myself  on  the  scene  of  operations. 
The  walls  were  beginning  to  go  up ;  at  one  point  scaf- 
fold poles  had  been  erected,  and  brick,  timber,  and 
the  builder's  sheds  were  scattered  near  and  far.  There 
was  not  much  to  see,  and  I  soon  rejoined  Cousin  Singe. 

"It's  going  to  be  a  fine  big  house,"  I  said. 

He  walked  on  before  me  without  reply. 

After  dinner  the  plans  were  laid  out  for  my  in- 
spection. They  were  wonderfully  drawn  on  thick, 
oily,  transparent  paper,  which  had  such  a  strange, 
piercing,  rancid  smell  that  it  was  necessary  to  move 
the  table  near  to  the  open  window.  Cousin  Jane, 
with  a  potpourri  jar  before  her  and  her  handkerchief 
to  her  nose,  told  me  she  could  never  study  the  plans 
as  she  wished  owing  to  the  nausea  caused  by  this 
smell.  She  complained  of  the  Stores  for  sending  her 
such  plans,  and  it  certainly  did  seem  unnecessary. 

The  drawings  were  inscribed:  "House  for  Lady 
Jane  Waterbury.  Design  No.  2721,  of  the  Universal 
Stores,  Ltd.  Mr.  William  Wordsworth,  Director  of 
Sanitation,  Architecture,  and  Building." 

"You  will  see  plain,  Cousin,"  said  Singe,  who  had 
moved  up  behind  us,  "that  old  man  Wordsworth  has 
pegged  out  a  new  claim." 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  215 

"Oh,  do  go  away,  Singe !"  cried  his  wife. 

"This  design,  Cousin,"  Singe  went  on,  pointing  with 
his  cigar,  "was  webbed  by  the  Stores.  Those  old 
women,  who  come  out  at  six  o'clock  and  throw  damp 
sawdust  into  the  upturned  bottoms  of  our  trousers, 
have  all  had  a  dab  at  it;  like  stirring  the  Christmas 
pudding." 

"Singe !    Do  leave  us  alone." 

Cousin  Singe  moved  off  "out  the  window,"  as  he 
would  say,  and  the  plans  were  explained  to  me  in 
detail.  I  don't,  however,  understand  plans,  and  I 
could  not  make  my  impressions  of  the  actual  build- 
ing agree  with  what  was  shown  in  the  drawings. 

"The  house  looks  much  bigger  on  the  ground  than 
it  does  on  paper,"  I  said. 

"They  always  do,  I  believe,"  Cousin  Jane  told  me. 
"The  men  scatter  things  about  so,  and  dig  holes  to 
such  an  extent  that  I  have  really  given  up  trying  to 
follow  the  work.  The  walls,  however,  will  be  going 
up  soon,  and  then  we  shall  see." 


The  next  morning  Cousin  Jane  carried  me  off  with 
her  "to  help  tell  the  foreman."  She  explained  that 
there  was  no  regular  contract  because  that  would 
have  meant  delays.  No!  There  was,  instead,  a 
schedule  of  prices,  so  that  when  the  house  was  built 
the  Stores  could  come  and  count  the  bricks  and 
measure  the  roof  and  then  you  paid  the  Stores  for 
whatever  you  had  had  a  la  carte,  so  to  speak,  and  it 


216  THOMAS 

was  a  great  mercy  if  only  the  Stores  would  send. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  satisfaction  when  we  came  to 
the  place.  She  had  not  been  to  the  site  for  several 
days,  she  told  me,  arid  had  no  idea  that  things  were 
getting  on  so  fast. 

When  I  set  my  eyes  on  the  long  lines  of  brickwork 
rising  from  the  ground  and  the  widespread  activity  of 
the  scene,  and  recalled  the  plan  Cousin  Jane  had  shown 
me,  I  felt  puzzled.  A  man  came  out  of  an  office  like  a 
bathing-hut,  and  touched  his  sunburnt  straw  "pan- 
ama"  respectfully. 

I  could  see  a  desk  with  drawings  on  it  in  this  fore- 
man's office,  and  while  the  man  followed  Cousin  Jane 
down  a  planked  gangway,  I  slipped  in  to  have  a  look 
at  them. 

They  were  plans  right  enough,  and  they  were  duly 
inscribed  as  the  Stores  design  No.  2712  for  Lady 
Jane,  and  the  poet's  name  gave  authority  to  them ;  but 
I  could  not  recognize  them.  I  don't  understand  plans 
and  I  felt  lost.  Then,  in  a  flash,  I  got  hold  of  the 
idea. 

I  hurried  out.  We  were  evidently  going  to  have 
some  excitement  and  I  didn't  want  to  miss  anything. 
The  sun  shone;  the  ringing  trowels  made  an  almost 
continuous  chorus;  a  traction  engine  was  snorting  on 
the  road  behind  me  with  a  load  of  bricks ;  a  steam  en- 
gine was  running  a  mill  to  mix  the  mortar,  and  the 
whole  concern  working  to  perfection.  What  would 
Cousin  Jane  do!  It  was  a  nightmare.  I  hoped  and 
prayed  that  it  would  not  fall  to  my  lot  to  tell  her 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  217 

what  was  happening.  I  hurried  down  to  the  place 
where  Cousin  Jane  had  already  entered  on  her  task  of 
telling  the  foreman. 

"Well,"  said  Cousin  Jane  as  I  joined  them.  "You're 
beginning  to  get  along  now,  I'm  glad  to  see." 

"The  brickwork  soon  goes  up  after  the  footings  are 
in,  m'lady." 

The  foreman  spoke  in  slow  level  tones,  and  drawled 
a  little  when  Lady  Jane  showed  impatience. 

"So  I  see,  and  you've  got  nice  dry  weather." 

"Bit  too  dry,  m'lady." 

"Well,  we  need  not  mind  about  that  just  now,  if 
you  please,  Dawson,"  Cousin  Jane  said  impetuously. 
"It  will  dry  the  mortar  quickly,  that's  what  I  was 
thinking  of." 

"Bit  too  quick,  m'lady.  Takes  me  all  my  time  to 
keep  the  work  wet." 

"My  good  man,  I  want  the  house  dry.  Can't  you 
understand  that?  I  particularly  told  the  person  the 

Stores  sent Tell  that  man  not  to  throw  water  on 

the  bricks." 

"I  know  my  business,  m'lady ;  he's  doing  what  he's 
been  told,"  said  Dawson  respectfully. 

"Well,  I  shall  complain  to  Mr.  Wordsworth,  Daw- 
son,  if  you  persist  in  refusing  to  obey  orders.  Some- 
one is  coming  down  to-day  and  it  will  have  to  be 
understood  that  the  bricks  are  to  be  kept  dry.  .  .  . 
Tell  me :  Why  does  that  bit  stick  out  like  that?" 

"That'll  be  the  drawring-room  gable,  m'lady." 

"Dining-room  you  mean,  I  think.  What  comes  over?" 


218  THOMAS 

"The  big  day  nursery,  m'lady." 

"NURSERY  !  Really,  Dawson !  The  big-  spare  room, 
you  mean." 

"Maybe  I  do,  m'lady;  one  name's  as  good  as  an- 
other for  me.  It's  not  my  business  what  names  they 
call  them  by." 

"It  doesn't  seem  right,  it  all  conies  too  far  this  way 
somehow." 

"The  house  is  set  out  quite  correct,  m'lady;  Mr. 
Grindle  he  came  and  measured  and  made  a  mark 
with  the  toe  of  his  boot,  he  did,  just  so,  same  as  I  do 
now — I  knows  he  did,  though ;  and  after  I  had  it  all 
pegged  out,  Mr.  Boot  he  came  down  and  checked  it 
every  bit,  he  did,  and  it  wasn't  that  much  out  any- 
where, m'lady." 

The  foreman  measured  off  the  top  joint  of  his  finger 
with  his  thumb  and  held  it  up  for  the  inspection  of 
Lady  Jane. 

"Who's  Mr.  Boot?  Was  it  him  I  saw  here  when  I 
said  where  the  house  was  to  go  ?" 

"No,  m'lady,  that  wouldn't  be  Mr.  Boot;  he's  one 
of  the  setters-out.  It  would  likely  be  one  of  the  can- 
vassers, Mr.  Gorge  or  Mr.  Rinse ;  they're  all  about  they 
are,  both  on  'em." 

"Well,  Mr.  Pentland  will  be  down  to-day,  and  he 
will  know  all  about  it." 

"No,  m'lady,  Mr.  Pentland's  one  of  the  measurers. 
He'd  get  into  trouble  if  he  meddled." 

"No  one  knows.  Really,  it's  hopeless.  Why  doesn't 
Mr.  Wordsworth  come  down  and  see  to  things  ?  How 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  219 

on  earth  am  I  to  be  sure  that  everything  is  right?" 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,  m'lady,  I'll  see  to  that;  why,  Mr. 
William  Wordsworth  couldn't  tell  you.  He's  all  for 
signing  papers  and  the  like,  Mr.  William  Words- 
worth is." 

"It's  really  disgraceful,"  Cousin  Jane  said  to  me, 
growing  peppery.  "I  trust  to  the  Stores,  and  they 
do  absolutely  nothing.  Oh  yes!  If  you  want  a  thing 
done,  do  it  yourself,  of  course.  Nice  for  me — that 

doesn't  matter Oh  dear,  no.  Well  now.  Show 

me!  Dawson,  go  on  in  front!  I  want  to  see  every- 
thing. Show  me!  Which  is  the  front  door?" 

"Along  o'  here,  m'lady. 

"There!" 

"Yes,  m'lady,  this  here." 

"But  it's  wrong!" 

"No,  m'lady." 

"But  I  say  it  is  wrong,  Dawson.  Oh,  damn  the 

Stores Thomas,  they've  been  and  made  the  front 

door  open  into  the  kitchen!" 

"This  a'n't  the  kitchen,"  Dawson  drawled  in  a  high- 
pitched  note  of  despair.  "This  here's  the  lounge, 
m'lady.  The  kitchens  are  over  yonder,  along  o'  that 
stack  of  poles." 

"There!  Why,  that's  the  stables— why,  they're 
building  them  on  to  the  house.  Whoever  heard  of 
such  a  thing ! — I  won't  have  it. — Tell  the  men  to  leave 
off. — The  stables  are  to  be  separate. — Why,  it's  all 
wrong. — Where  are  the  plans?  The  plans,  quick! 
Get  the  plans,  Dawson." 


220  THOMAS 

The  foreman  walked  off  philosophically  with  a  wry 
glance  at  me,  and  Cousin  Jane  hurried  down  to  a 
point  where  she  could  view  the  south  front  of  the 
building.  I  saw  her  throw  out  her  hands.  She  re- 
turned to  meet  the  foreman,  who  spread  the  drawings 
out  on  a  pile  of  bricks. 

"You've  brought  the  wrong  ones." 
"These  are  the  only  plans  I've  got,  m'lady." 
Lady  Jane  stared  at  them,  then  she  stared  at  me. 
She  grew    crimson.      Suddenly    her   glance    traveled 
beyond  me,  over  my  shoulder. 

"Who  is  that  man— is  he  Mr.  Pentland?" 
The  foreman  looked  attentively  under  his  hand  at  a 
figure  which  was  approaching  down  the  Clearing.    The 
Stores  had  Sent. 

"No,  m'lady,  that  won't  be  Pentland;  that'll  be 
Wedge." 

"What,  another!  Ask  him  to  come  here.  I  want 
to  speak  to  him  at  once." 

The  Stores  had  sent  Mr.  Wedge  in  a  black  frock 
coat,  straw  hat  and  white  satin  tie,  and  he  looked  a 
bit  exotic  among  the  fir  trees.  He  carried  an  umbrella 
and  brown  attache  case  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other, 
like  a  symbol  of  rank,  a  pair  of  abortive  gloves.  He 
raised  his  hat,  without  looking  at  us,  in  an  ambiguous 
way,  as  though  he  did  not  wish  to  commit  himself, 
but  meant  us  to  decide  for  ourselves  whether  he  was 
saluting  or  merely  ventilating  his  head.  Cousin  Jane 
evidently  concluded  that  he  was  ventilating  his  head. 
He  went  into  the  hut,  where  we  could  see  him  twice 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  221 

lick  the  palm  of  his  hand  and  smooth  his  hair  with  it, 
and  arrange  his  tie  in  the  foreman's  scrap  of  looking- 
glass,  and  pull  down  his  cuffs.  He  came  out  into  the 
sunlight  and  walked  towards  us.  He  was  a  slim  pale 
young  man,  and  as  he  approached  he  raised  his  hat 
again  and  ventured  to  beam  a  little. 

"Getting  on,  your  ladyship,  I'm  glad  to  see." 

"Yes :  with  the  wrong  house." 

"Something  wrong,  your  ladyship?" 

"Tell  him,  please." 

"M'lady  says  as  what  it's  a  wrong  Jun,  Mr.  Wedge." 

"Eh?  Speak  clear,  Dawson;  what  are  you  talking 
about?" 

"Theres  been  a  slip,"  I  put  in. 

"Oh  well,  Dawson  will  see  to  that;  what  slip  is  it, 
please  ?" 

"The  Stores  have  delivered  the  wrong  goods,"  I 
said. 

"Ah  yes?  They  can  be  returned,  of  course.  What 
do  you  refer  to,  please?" 

"The  House." 

"Beg  pardon?" 

"It's  the  wrong  one." 

"Do  I — you  say  the  house  is  wrong?" 

"Oh  no;  there's  no  complaint  about  the  house.  It 
seems  a  splendid  house — so  far  as  one  can  see." 

Mr.  Wedge  smiled  and  bowed  acknowledgments  on 
behalf  of  the  Stores.  "But  you  say  there  is  some- 
thing wrong,  I  understand?" 

"Yes." 


222  THOMAS 

"May  I  ask ?" 

"It's  the  wrong  house." 

"The  wrong  house  f" 

"Yes." 

"The  wrong  house?" 

"Yes." 

"You  mean  different  from  what  was  ordered?" 

"Quite  so." 

"You  say  all  this  concrete  and  brickwork  won't 
fit?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  it's  the  wrong  house  altogether,  you  mean  ?" 

"Exactly." 

Mr.  Wedge  gazed  at  me  blankly,  and  then  stared  at 
the  plans.  His  lips  formed  the  words  of  "wrong 
house"  as  though  he  were  trying  to  fix  the  idea  in  his 
mind.  Then  he  soliloquised  with  a  long  pause  for 
meditation  between  each  utterance,  while  we  stood 
silent,  and  the  foreman  tilted  his  hat  over  his  eyes 
and  scratched  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  this." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  at  all  what  Mr.  William 
Wordsworth  will  say  when  he  hears  about  it.  The 
wrong  house!  Ah!" 

"Mr.  William  Wordsworth  has  signed  the  plans; 
he  must  know  all  about  it,  that's  certain." 

"I  should  say,  if  you  were  to  arst  me,  there's  been 
a  sort  of  mistake  somewhere  or  other — a  bit  of  a 
misunderstanding,  as  you  may  say." 

At  this  point  the  foreman  broke  in. 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  223 

"It's  been  and  done  now,  though,  arn't  it,  Mr. 
Wedge?" 

"As  Dawson  points  out,  the  house  is  already  a 
good  way  towards  being  half  built,"  said  Wedge.  "If 
it  is  wrong  it  ought  to  have  been  mentioned  before- 
hand. We  don't  take  responsibility  when  a  thing  is 
not  mentioned  beforehand.  It's  one  of  our  rules.  I 
expect  that  is  what  Mr.  William  Wordsworth  will  say 
when  he  hears." 

Lady  Jane,  who  had  been  standing  by  with  her 
back  turned,  here  spun  round. 

"No  one  cares  a  twopenny  damn  about  your  rules," 
she  blurted,  "nor  what  Mr.  Wordsworth  may  say;  I 
ordered  a  house,  and  I  won't  have  anyone  else's.  This 
has  all  got  to  be  pulled  down  and  taken  away.  Then 
start  fresh.  Begin  now." 

A  long  argument  began,  in  the  course  of  which  Mr. 
Wedge  discovered  among  his  papers  the  letter  Lady 
Jane  had  written  when  she  ordered  the  house.  He 
laid  it  before  her  with  an  air  of  noble  forbearance. 

"Sunday. 

THE  STORES. 

Lady  Jane  Waterbury  will  take  the  house  No.  2712 
and  it  is  to  begin  at  once.  She  does  not  want  any 
contract,  but  the  work  is  to  be  done  under  a  shedule 
(can't  spell  it)  as  the  Stores  suggest.  She  will  be 
glad  to  hear  how  soon  the  work  can  begin  and  when 
it  will  be  finished.' 

What  had  happened  was  that  the  design  intended 
by  Cousin  Jane  was  numbered  "two  seven  twenty- 


224  THOMAS 

one,"  but  she  had  described  it  as  "two  seven  twelve." 
She  had  copied  "twelve,"  however,  from  a  Stores 
letter,  and  the  whole  thing  resolved  itself  into  the 
mistake  of  a  typist,  who  had  written  "twelve"  instead 
of  "twenty-one."  The  great  William  had  imperish- 
ably  confirmed  the  error  with  his  momentous  signa- 
ture: "one  house  Lady  Jane  Waterbury,  No.  2712," 
had  been  put  into  the  slot,  so  to  speak,  at  the  Stores, 
and  its  huge  mechanism  had  been  automatically  thrown 
into  action.  The  whole  blame  clearly  lay  with  the 
typist. 

The  dispute  was  still  vigorous  when  I  stole  away, 
and  Mr.  Wedge  was  beginning  to  get  a  bit  haughty. 
Cousin  Jane,  in  the  frenzy  of  debate,  had  expressed 
a  desire  to  disembowel  Mr.  William  Wordsworth. 

I  hurried  to  the  house,  packed  my  things,  brought 
Susan  round  to  the  front  and  then  went  to  say  good- 
bye to  Cousin  Singe. 

When  I  gently  told  him  what  had  happened,  he 
looked  at  me  fixedly,  his  face  became  crimson  and 
swelled  alarmingly,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He 
frightened  me  for  a  moment,  and  then  I  knew,  by  a 
faint  pulsing  of  his  chest,  that  Singe  had  broken  the 
habit  of  years  and  was  enjoying  a  hearty  laugh.  He 
stared  at  me  in  silence,  and  only  responded  to  my 
"good-bye"  by  dribbling  at  the  mouth.  I  was  anxious 
not  to  meet  Cousin  Jane  again  and  hurried  off  to 
Susan.  He  followed  me  with  his  fingers  thrust  into 
his  fobs,  and  stood  gazing  at  me  while  I  wound  her  up. 
Just  as  I  was  getting  into  the  seat  he  spoke : 


SINGE  WATERBURY'S  WAY  225 

"What  did  you  say?"  I  asked. 

"Covered  by  insurance,"  he  blurted. 

"How  do  you  mean?  How  could  it  be  insured?"  I 
asked. 

He  shook  his  head,  while  a  happy  tear  ran  unheeded 
down  the  side  of  his  nose.  "Nunk!  I  keep  your 
cousin  insured.  You  never  know  where  a  suffragist 
may  bog  you." 

I  saw  Cousin  Jane  approaching  from  the  distance, 
and  as  I  put  in  the  gears  he  shouted  again. 

"  'f  you  ever  change  your  mind,  Cousin,  take  out 
a  full  Wife  policy  for  Mrs.  Quinn — 'Domestic  Benefits 
Limited,  Broadway,  N'  York.' "  He  nodded  again, 
with  his  neck  bursting ;  and  so  I  left  him. 

The  drive  sweeps  through  the  park  in  a  wide  loop, 
and  as  I  approached  the  lodge  gate  I  caught  a  glimpse, 
through  the  trees,  of  Singe  Waterbury  executing  com- 
plicated manoeuvres  on  the  lawn,  with  remarkable 
agility  and  sprightliness.  In  another  flash  I  saw 
Cousin  Jane  busily  working  the  pump  of  the  gardener's 
watering-tank. 


CHATER  XIII 

MY  ONLY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS 

IT  is  no  good  having  a  duke  at  all  if  you  let  him 
drop.  There  are  only  a  couple  of  dozen  of  them 
and  it  makes  them  precious.  That  is  why  I  looked 
up  my  duke.  It  is  no  good  waiting  for  your  duke  to 
look  you  up.  They  won't  be  bothered. 

The  particular  tie  between  me  and  my  duke  is 
that  he  shot  me.  He  blew  a  bit  out  of  my  leg;  in 
fact,  I  don't  thank  the  duke  that  I  have  any  leg  except 
a  celluloid  one,  which,  though  it  is  the  next  best  thing 
to  one's  own,  has  the  drawback  of  being  explosive. 
I  have  rather  to  thank  my  lucky  stars. 

I  find  it  an  awkward  business  alluding  to  my  duke 
at  all.  You  must  hide  your  duke  under  a  bushel.  If 
you  even  let  him  peep  out,  however  coyly,  your  audi- 
ence will  suppose  you  are  trying  to  slog  them  with 
your  precious  duke,  and  they  will  resent  him,  and  you. 
The  fact  is  that  everybody  is  so  well  aware  of  snobbish 
aspirations  that  they  dare  not  mention  a  duke,  if  they 
have  one,  for  fear  of  revealing  their  snobbishness,  and 
are  indignant  at  the  assurance  of  anyone  else  who  has 
the  hardihood  to  do  so.  It  is  almost  impossible  for  a 

226 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS    227 

commoner  to  experience  the  radiance  of  a  duke  and 
not  become  at  once  either  a  vulgarian  or  a  snob.  To 
discredit  the  sublimity  of  the  ducal  state,  as  I  am  doing 
now,  is  vulgar.  It  is,  of  course,  the  impulse  of  one 
who  is  trying  to  reconcile  himself  to  having  lost  his 
duke — as  I  have.  On  the  other  hand,  no  commoner 
can  exist  in  that  radiance  unless  he  consents  to  fill 
his  allotted  notch  and  defer  to  rank;  and  as  he  can 
find  the  gratification  which  induces  him  to  do  this  only 
in  a  mean  admiration  for  mean  ideals,  he  is  a  con- 
fessed snob.  A  duke  makes  radicals  out  of  the  vul- 
garians and  tones  out  of  the  snobs.  A  duke  squirts 
out  radicals  as  a  by-product  of  dukedom  much  as  a 
locomotive  blows  cinders  into  the  air,  but  he  can 
always  make  conservatives  by  touching  his  hat. 

There  is  one  man  I  know  who  is  entirely  superior 
to  snobbishness.  He  is  as  unconscious  of  snobbish 
aspirations  as  he  is  of  the  flow  of  blood  in  his  veins. 
He  has  an  admiration  for  rank,  and  collects  experi- 
ences of  the  higher  aristocracy  with  the  simplicity  of  a 
child  collecting  shells  from  the  beach ;  and  recounts  his 
adventures  in  the  belief  that  what  is  of  such  interest 
to  him  will  interest  others.  He  has  no  idea  of  vaunt- 
ing his  swell  acquaintances.  If  a  lord  informs  him 
that  he  thinks  it  will  rain,  Reggie  Bage  feels  the  opin- 
ion, from  such  a  source  to  be  so  weighty  that  he  will 
tell  you  impressively,  "The  Marquis  of  Kennington 
said  to  me  just  now  that  the  weather  is  going  to 
change."  The  result  of  all  this  is  that  Reggie  gets 
shot  at. 


228  THOMAS 

I  was  in  the  smoking-room  of  the  Qub  one  day 
when  he  pushed  open  the  glazed  doors  and  stood  look- 
ing round  the  room. 

"Well,  and  how's  the  duke,  Reggie?"  Dick  Banner- 
man  called  out  cheerily,  across  the  floor. 

"What  duke?" 


When  I  left  Cousin  Singe  practising  first  exercises 
in  apoplexy  on  his  front  drive  I  had  no  idea  where  I 
was  going  to  fill  up  the  three  days  before  I  was  due  at 
Hildon.  My  chief  need  was  to  get  somewhere  quick 
so  that  I  could  begin  to  enjoy  the  joke  of  Lady  Jane 
and  the  Stores  without  loss  of  time.  A  joke  like  that 
must  be  shared.  I  hadn't  had  a  proper  laugh  over  it. 
Finally  I  turned  Susan  in  the  direction  of  Compton 
Barns.  Lord  Heckfield  always  laughs  at  Lady  Jane, 
and  I  had  barely  forty  miles  to  go  to  reach  him. 

In  order  to  disarm  hostility  I  may  mention,  in  con- 
fessing to  an  acquaintance  with  Lord  Heckfield,  that 
he  is  the  second  Viscount  only,  and  that  he  and  my 
father  were  brother  officers  and  close  friends  long 
before  his  father  was  raised  to  the  Peerage.  Lord 
Heckfield  became  my  guardian  after  my  father's 
death.  Our  friendship  may  therefore  be  ascribed  to 
physical  coincidences  and  not  to  family  connection  or 
social  eminence  on  my  part,  and  I  hope  that  these  cir- 
cumstances will  exculpate  me,  and  remove  any  impres- 
sion that  I  am  dragging  in  Heckfield  for  the  purpose 
of  making  a  display  of  him.  He  always  treats  me 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS  229 

as  if  I  were  an  absurdity.  What  the  idea  is,  I  don't 
know,  but  he  refuses  to  take  me  seriously.  He  stutters 
a  little  and  suffers,  with  his  advancing  years,  from 
asthma.  I  found  him  ill,  but  I  was  shown  into  the 
library  where  the  old  fellow,  for  he  is  beginning  to  get 
old,  was  sitting  in  an  invalid-chair,  beautifully  tailored 
as  usual,  with  a  dense  atmosphere  of  cigarette  smoke 
and  a  medicine-bottle  and  glass  at  his  elbow. 

"Well,  you're  a  nice  chap,  dropping  out  of  the 
clouds  like  this !  Why  didn't  you  say  you  were  com- 
ing? You'll  kill  all  your  friends  by  giving  them  these 
sudden  joys." 

When  I  had  given  him  an  account  of  Lady  Jane's 
house,  he  said: 

"You're  a  terrible  fellow!  You  ought  to  be  sorry 
for  your  unfortunate  cousin.  Where's  your  gallantry? 
Did  it  happen  to-day?" 

"Three  hours  ago." 

He  laughed  and  gasped. 

"You  shouldn't  come  here  making  me  ill.  Go  and 
tell  the  Duke,  they've  got  a  small  party  at  Yend.  He 
hates  Lady  Jane — declares  she  stuck  him  over  a 
horse." 

He  insisted  on  coming  to  the  door  to  see  me  off, 
and  seemed  dazzled  at  the  spectacle  of  Susan  equipped 
for  touring. 

I  told  him  the  scheme  of  my  tour. 

"You  graceless  young  ruffian  1"  he  said,  suffocating 
again.  "I  must  go  in.  Good-bye.  Sorry  I  can't  ask 
you  to  stop." 


230  THOMAS 

Yend  was  only  fifteen  miles  off  and  I  thought  I 
would  risk  it.  I  felt  at  the  moment  quite  equal  to 
keeping  my  end  up  in  the  crowd  there  if  I  were 
asked  to  stay.  The  Duchess  is  an  American,  very 
off-hand  and  a  little  lacking  in  dignity,  perhaps;  and 
the  Duke,  who  is  a  good  deal  older  than  she,  is  genial, 
and  easygoing,  and  very  popular  with  all  his  depen- 
dants. He  bears  the  responsibilities  of  his  rank  light- 
ly, and  takes  no  part  in  public  affairs  beyond  lending 
his  patronage  in  local  matters.  He  and  his  Duchess 
will  go  through  a  bazaar  like  a  couple  of  bluebottle 
flies :  you  can  hear  them  buzzing,  and  in  half  an  hour 
their  job  is  done  and  they  are  off  again. 

I  entered  the  park  by  a  lodge  I  did  not  know,  and 
found  myself  approaching  the  Castle  from  the  back. 
I  was  pulling  up  to  get  my  bearings  near  some  out- 
buildings when,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  Duke  him- 
self came  round  a  corner  with  a  keeper  and  two 
couple  of  terriers. 

"Who?  Who?"  he  asked,  pointing  at  me  with 
his  stick.  "I  shot  you! — Quinn!  Quinn,  of  course! 
How's  your  leg?" 

"As  good  as  ever." 

"I'm  very  glad  to  hear  that.  Coming  up?  I'll  get 
in.  I've  been  on  my  feet  all  day.  Where  do  you 
hail  from?" 

"Well,  you  must  join  us  for  a  day  or  two,"  he  said, 
when  I  told  him.  "We  don't  go  north  till  next  week. 
Bring  the  car  round  here." 

We  stopped  at  a  side-door,  where  a  servant  was 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS  231 

put  in  charge  of  Susan,  and  I  followed  my  host  down 
corridors  and  across  a  vast,  stone  vaulted,  modern 
Gothic  hall  which,  like  the  front  entrance,  resembles 
part  of  a  church,  and  looks  as  if  it  had  been  designed 
to  strike  a  chill  to  the  heart  and  attune  the  mind  to  the 
cold  state  of  dukedom.  We  went  to  a  drawing-room 
or  boudoir,  also  with  church  windows,  which  were  in- 
congruously fitted  with  gilded  poles  and  heavy  cur- 
tains, where  the  Duchess  and  a  number  of  other  ladies 
were  playing  cards  in  an  atmosphere  of  mingled  cigar- 
ettes and  roses. 

"There  you  are  1    Was  it  a  good  bag,  Frank  ?" 

"Seventy- four  brace.  You  remember  Mr.  Quinn? 
he's  staying  to-night." 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Quinn?  Glad  you're  joining 
us,"  said  her  Grace,  glancing  up  to  shake  hands. 
"Whose  shout?  We  shall  meet  again  later  on."  She 
smiled  dismissal,  and  I  followed  her  husband  to  the 
billiard-room.  This  was  a  huge  place  with  an  enor- 
mous stone  mantelpiece  carved  and  blazoned  with  the 
arms  of  the  great  house.  Half  a  dozen  men  were  sit- 
ting at  ease  in  their  shooting-clothes,  while  others 
were  coming  from  the  adjoining  gun-room.  Two  of 
my  host's  brothers,  Lord  Richard  and  Lord  John,  I 
knew.  The  others  were  strangers. 

There  was  low-toned  talk  and  a  general  tendency 
to  stretch  legs.  A  small  clean-cut  man,  a  Captain 
Romer,  called  by  everyone  Freddy,  chatted  and  laughed 
gaily.  Everyone  else  seemed  tired  except  the  Duke, 
who  fizzed  out  of  the  room.  After  about  an  hour  of 


232  THOMAS 

this  someone  began  practising  billiard  shots,  walking 
slowly  about  the  table,  and  the  click  of  the  balls  helped 
to  put  us  all  to  sleep.  Thirty  minutes  later  general 
yawning  began,  and  the  men  got  out  of  their  chairs  and 
slowly  dispersed.  Captain  Romer  came  over  to  me 
and  said,  "The  Duke  peppered  you,  they  tell  me." 

"Yes.    Got  me  in  the  leg." 

"Bad?" 

"No.  But  it  took  a  bit  clean  out  of  my  calf.  It 
looks,  now,  as  if  someone  had  had  a  bite  off  me." 

"By  Jove!    Clean  out,  you  say?" 

We  were  away  at  the  side  of  the  room,  the  others 
were  drifting  out,  and  my  leg  interests  and  gives 
pleasure  to  all  who  see  it.  It  makes  it  rather  a  special 
show — being  a  duke's  job.  It  is  a  thoroughly  popular 
exhibition,  and  I  pulled  down  my  stocking  for  Freddy 
to  have  a  look. 

"It's  one  of  the  queerest  things  I  ever  saw,"  he  said, 
complimenting  me  as  he  stooped  forward  in  his  chair. 
At  that  moment  the  Duke  walked  in  through  the  gun- 
room door  just  behind  us.  I  did  not  know  it  was 
he  till  I  heard  his  voice.  Luckily  he  could  not,  I  think, 
have  seen  what  I  was  doing. 

"Here,  Dick,  look  after  Quinn,  will  you?  He 
doesn't  know  his  room,"  he  said  to  his  brother,  and 
went  out  again.  Freddy  laughed  shrilly  and  walked 
off.  It  was  annoying.  After  all,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  Freddy  asked  to  see  it.  You  can't  possibly 
refuse  when  a  fellow  asks  to  be  allowed  to  look  at 
your  leg.  It  would  be  "selfish,"  as  Nita  calls  it. 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS  233 

A  servant  led  the  way  to  my  room. 

My  things  had  all  been  laid  out  in  due  order  as 
though  I  were  a  "quick-change  artiste,"  with  the  shirt 
opened  and  the  links  and  studs  in  place,  but  when  I 
wanted  my  trousers  I  couldn't  find  them.  There  was 
a  break  in  the  orderly  rank  along  the  edge  of  the  bed. 
I  searched  in  the  wardrobe  and  chest  of  drawers,  but 
without  result,  and  then  rang  the  bell.  They  had  evi- 
dently unpacked  the  whole  of  my  luggage  and  stowed 
the  things  away.  I  went  through  all  the  cupboards 
and  drawers  a  second  time  in  vain.  No  one  had  an- 
swered the  bell.  I  rang  again,  and  in  a  sort  of  per- 
plexity I  opened  the  door  and  peeped  out  with  some 
vague  hope  of  rescue.  The  man  was  standing  on  the 
mat  outside.  Down  the  corridor  I  could  see  two  others 
doing  sentinel  in  the  same  way. 

"I  can't  find  my  trousers." 

The  valet  came  in,  looked  at  the  bed,  and  glanced 
round  the  room. 

"I  will  inquire,  sir,"  he  said,  and  he  bowed  and  left 
me.  While  I  was  awaiting  his  return  I  read  again  the 
card  which  was  thrust  centrally  into  the  frame  of 
my  looking-glass. 

Vend  Castle. 

Dinner.  August  gth. 

MR.  THOMAS  QUINN 

to  take  in 
THE  HON.  MILDRED  TICH-GOWER. 

J  thought  of  Mildred  and  wondered  whether  she 
were  thinking  of  me.  No  doubt  she  had  a  ticket 


234  THOMAS 

stuck  into  her  glass  too.  She  had  never  seen  me! 
How  exciting  for  Mildred!  I  might,  for  all  she 
knew,  be  HE!  Was  I  HE?  I  felt  a  bit  interested 
myself.  I  was  glad  she  could  not  see  me;  I  never 
look  my  best  in  sock  suspenders.  How  far  had  Mil- 
dred got  ?  I  wondered.  I  kissed  my  hand  towards  the 
west,  which  was  the  direction  in  which  I  judged  Mil- 
dred to  be.  I  could  picture  her  comparing  different 
colored  gowns  against  her  bosom,  and  blushing  at  her- 
self— a  wonderful  moment  in  the  life  of  a  young  girl, 
and  all  on  my  account.  Mildred  must  be  fair  or  she 
would  have  some  other  name — a  washed-out  sort  of 
fairness,  but  I  don't  mind  that  if,  as  Bat  says,  they 
are  "nice  and  dainty."  Dear  Mildred!  I  was  all 
impatience  to  see  her.  But  I  was  getting  much  more 
impatient  to  see  my  trousers.  I  was  uneasy.  Time 
was  short.  At  last  I  put  on  a  dressing-gown  and 
looked  out  into  the  corridor.  No  one  was  in  sight, 
but  almost  immediately  my  man  appeared  following 
Lord  Richard  down  the  passage. 

His  lordship  was  in  full  evening  dress,  with  the 
exception  that  he  was  wearing  the  striped  green  and 
violet  trousers  of  a  pyjama  suit. 

He  is  a  tall,  elegant-looking  man,  with  a  toy  mous- 
tache, and  he  never  shows  more  than  the  faint  glim- 
mer of  a  smile  on  his  impassive  face.  He  has  a  way 
of  holding  up  his  chin  and  speaking  with  restrained 
murmuring  lips,  which  makes  him  appear  to  be  carry- 
ing a  spoonful  of  wine  about  in  his  mouth. 

"I   am   afraid   the   ladies   have   taken  them,"  he 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS  235 

mumbled,  looking  at  me  placidly.  "We  are  wearing 
these."  he  added,  lowering  his  lids  to  indicate  his 
trousers.  After  glancing  at  me  again,  with  a  dim  sug- 
gestion of  a  smile,  he  nodded  and  walked  off. 

It  promised  to  be  what  they  considered  a  gay  even- 
ing, evidently;  but  I  heartily  wished,  when  I  put  on 
my  pyjamas,  that  they  had  chosen  another  evening  for 
this  particular  joke.    I  did  not  at  all  relish  a  first  in- 
troduction to  the  ladies  in  the  dress  I  saw  reflected  in 
my  glass.     Apart  from  any  other  consideration,  my 
pyjamas  seemed  too  short,  and  they  did  not  hang  well. 
I  had  never  noticed  it  before,  but  they  did  not  appear 
to  fit  and  made  my  legs  look  craoked.    Mildred  would 
not  like  me  so,  I  knew.     Lord  Richard's  must  have 
been  made  of  silk,  and  by  a  tailor.    I  tried  some  blue 
cheviot  trousers,  turned  up  and  ironed  at  the  bottoms, 
but  the  result  was  impossible.     Mildred  would  have 
taken  a  violent  dislike  to  me.    It  was  clear  that  pyjama- 
legs  was  the  proper  garment  in  which  to  carry  off  the 
joke ;  for  I  supposed  it  was  meant  as  a  joke.    Then  I 
had  a  splendid  idea.    Sinbad  the  Sailor !    I  got  out  his 
drawers.    I  had  noticed  where  they  had  been  put  away 
and  I  was  into  them  in  a  moment.    They  are  of  lemon- 
colored  sateen,  buttoning  round  the  angle  and  growing 
properly   baggy  as  you  go   upwards.     They   looked 
superb.    I  should  be  the  best-dressed  man  in  the  com- 
pany and   Mildred   would   be   delighted.     The .  onK 
defect  was  that  they  were  so  voluminous  below  the 
waist  that  they  made  my  coat-tails  stand  out  and  show 
a  lemon  "V"  insertion  at  a  back  view.    I  tried  putting 


236  THOMAS 

my  coat-tails  inside,  but  decided  that  Mildred  would 
prefer  that  I  did  not.  I  should  have  to  be  careful  to 
avoid  turning  my  back  on  hec,  that  was  all.  It  was  the 
best  I  could  do,  anyhow,  and  time  was  up.  I  left  my 
room  at  the  stroke  of  eight  o'clock,  feeling  like  a 
bather  in  dread  of  a  chilly  plunge. 

I  encountered  no  one  in  my  journey  to  the  great 
landing.  The  place  was  vast  and  arcaded  like  a  ca- 
thedral. The  stone  vaulting  went  towering  up  above 
me  to  a  sort  of  Gothic  skylight.  I  would  undertake  to 
drive  Susan  up  the  wide,  shallow  flight  of  stairs.  The 
uncarpeted  stone  was  flanked  with  a  heavy  pierced 
balustrade,  like  the  parapet  of  a  church,  and  at  every 
turn  great  bosky,  heraldic  lions,  carved  in  stone,  shoul- 
dering pikes,  and  with  crowns  on  their  heads,  pro- 
truded curly  tongues  at  me.  The  Duchess  told  me 
once  that  these  stairs  were  a  great  resource,  and  that 
they  had  toboggan  races  on  tea-trays  down  them  to 
help  out  Christmas;  but  the  place  seemed  to  me  op- 
pressive to  the  point  of  being  inhuman.  I  felt  no  more 
than  three  feet  high  as  I  crept  alone  down  the  vast 
cloistered  flights,  vividly  aware  of  Sinbad's  lemon 
drawers  and  of  my  coat-tails  cocking  out  behind  me. 
And  then  I  caught  a  whiff.  Yes !  There  was  no  mis- 
take about  it!  It  was  a  smell  of  cooking!  It  was 
gone  in  a  moment,  but  it  had  been  like  a  ray  of  sun- 
light, and  I  took  heart.  The  bottom  seemed  to  fall 
out  of  the  whole  ducal  fabric  at  that  touch  of  nature. 
I  felt  reassured. 

When  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  I  noticed  a 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS  237 

group  of  servants  standing  to  one  side  as  though  the 
whole  establishment  were  waiting  on  my  appearance. 
They  observed  me,  without  looking  at  me,  with  grave 
respect.  Apparently  guests  always  came  down  to 
dinner  cocktailed  and  in  Arabian  drawers.  It  made 
me  ill  at  ease.  What  I  wanted  was  sympathy.  A 
loud  swelling,  medley  of  clashing  bell-sounds  filled  the 
vast  building  with  a  soft  din.  I  began  to  feel  scared. 
I  was  not  prepared  for  such  solitary  state. 

"Which  room  is  it?"  I  asked ;  and  I  shivered. 

One  of  the  men  stepped  briskly  forward  with  a  bow, 
and  led  the  way  to  a  door  which  he  held  open  for  me. 
As  I  entered  I  glanced  aside  and  saw  one  of  the  group 
turn  to  his  fellows.  I  could  clearly  discern  the  wink 
in  the  back  of  his  head,  and  see  it  reflected  in  the  rigid 
countenances  of  the  others  who  stared  past  him.  It 
was  a  small  matter,  but  it  cheered  me  at  the  moment 
I  entered  the  room. 

I  found  myself  in  the  brilliantly  lighted  salon  of  the 
Castle.  It  was  a  huge  apartment.  At  the  further  end 
I  could  see  a  dozen  splendidly  dressed  women,  various- 
ly grouped  and  talking  pleasantly  together;  but  not  a 
single  man  was  present. 

I  had  been  done  brown  and  no  mistake.  It  was 
evidently  a  conspiracy  to  get  me  to  appear,  unknown, 
before  all  these  great  ladies  in  my  pyjamas.  My  anger 
luckily  kept  me  up  to  the  scratch.  I  advanced  resent- 
fully down  the  room.  Some  of  the  ladies  glanced 
towards  me  casually.  Others  did  not  appear  to  ob- 
serve my  entrance.  Then  suddenly  a  lovely  figure 


238  THOMAS 

broke  from  a  group  near  the  fireplace  and  stepped 
gaily  towards  me. 

"Well,  how  do  you  do,  again,  Mr.  Quinn  ?"  said  the 
Duchess,  looking  me  steadily  in  the  eyes  with  her  own 
very  bright  and  sparkling  ones.  "I  couldn't  talk  to  you 
this  afternoon.  It  was  so  very  critical,  but  we  won 
the  rubber,  and  the  next  too.  Where  have  you  last 
come  from?" 

The  Duchess  does  not  speak  like  an  American  ex- 
actly, but  there  is  a  strongly  personal  note  in  her 
speech,  as  though  she  had  been  taught  the  English 
manner  of  utterance  very  carefully  by  the  best  masters. 
It  is  a  sort  of  sticky,  clicking  enunciation,  and  is 
rather  fascinating. 

"They're  building  a  house,"  she  was  continuing, 
after  I  had  answered  her  question,  when  her  attention 
seemed  to  wander,  and  her  glance  travelled  past  me 
towards  the  end  of  the  room. 

I  turned  and  saw  an  impressive  sight  indeed.  A 
group  of  nine  men  in  evening  dress  and  gaudy  pyjama 
legs  straggled  negligently  into  the  room  and  gradually 
distributed  themselves  among  the  ladies.  There  was 
no  laughter,  nor  any  particular  sign  of  amusement. 
The  men,  generally,  had  an  air  of  being  mildly  bored 
and  a  little  too  much  at  their  ease  for  good  manners. 
Some  of  their  night  fits  were  no  better  than  my  own. 
The  Duchess's  eye  flashed  briefly  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  then  she  left  my  side  in  one  of  her  charac- 
teristic rapid  movements  and  addressed  some  serious 
questions  to  Freddy  (who  goes  in  for  pink  sleeping- 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS  239 

suits)  about  the  recovery  of  a  gun,  which,  it  seemed, 
had  been  dropped  overboard  at  the  ferry. 

"Will  you  introduce  me  to  Miss  Mildred  Tich- 
Gower?"  I  said  when  I  could  get  the  chance.  "I'm 
taking  her  in." 

"She's  over  here,"  and  her  Grace  led  the  way  through 
a  throng  adorned  with  very  bright  eyes  and  dazzling 
costumes.  All  the  women  were  young  in  style,  if  not 
in  years,  and  there  was  a  lot  of  electricity  about,  cer- 
tainly; but  one  could  not  detect  any  special  gaiety. 
Mildred  did  not  appear  to  notice  Sinbad's  beautiful 
drawers  at  all,  but  she  could  not  hide  a  certain  mis- 
chievousness  lurking  in  her  gray  eyes  when  I  looked 
into  them  at  short  range.  She  turned  and  nodded  to 
me  as  if  she  knew  me  when  the  Duchess  mentioned  my 
name.  She  was  quite  a  charmer:  tall,  slim,  with  a 
short  delicate  nose,  a  lifted  lip,  and  animated  gray 
eyes.  She  was  fair,  of  course,  and  wore  her  hair 
across  her  forehead  in  a  wide  swathe  like  a  turban, 
and  fastened  over  the  temple  with  a  great  diamond 
buckle  in  a  most  disquieting  fashion.  On  the  whole,  I 
thought  I  had  got  the  pick  of  the  bevy. 

I  moment  later  the  Duke  fizzed  into  the  room  with 
quick  steps,  a  little  vexed  at  being  late,  and  made 
straight  for  one  of  the  elder  ladies  and  bore  her  off. 
His  dress  alone  was  complete:  they  had  spared  his 
trousers;  and  I  could  see  by  the  sudden  surprised 
glances  he  shot  about  him  that  he  was  not  in  the  secret. 
As  he  passed  near  me  he  glanced  at  my  legs,  and  then 


240  THOMAS 

at  me,  in  a  baffled  way,  and  I  saw  his  partner  squeeze 
his  arm. 

When  we  were  seated  at  dinner  the  joke  was  safely 
out  of  mind  below  the  table.  It  was  a  delightful  meal. 
The  talk  was  gay,  and  traveled  up  and  down  the  table 
with  a  happy  absence  of  the  two-birds-on-a-perch  ar- 
rangement of  some  dinner-parties  I  have  attended, 
where  each  man  has  his  lady  allotted  to  him,  and  has 
got  to  make  the  best  he  can  of  her.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  fun  at  Freddy's  corner,  but  we  only  got  stray 
reports  of  it  down  at  our  end.  The  food  was  lovely, 
and  there  was  not  too  much  of  it,  and  no  time  was 
wasted.  In  this  way  I  lost  a  delicious  morsel  of 
asparagus  iced  in  a  parmesan  sauce,  which  was 
snatched  away  at  a  moment  when  I  had  laid  down 
my  fork  to  show  Mildred,  with  a  pellet  of  bread,  how 
the  thimble-rigger  secretes  the  pea.  Before  I  knew  it, 
it  had  gone  from  me  for  ever — a  moment  never  to 
be  recaptured  this  side  the  grave. 

Mildred  confided  to  me  that  she  likes  to  have  a  bit 
"on,"  and  knows  a  bookie  or  two,  it  seems.  She  is  a 
dear  girl.  She  is  not  in  the  least  racy.  She  seemed  as 
though  she  had  stepped,  in  disguise,  out  of  a  convent 
for  the  occasion.  She  impressed  me  as  a  quiet  looker- 
on  at  life  with  just  this  spark  of  a  passion  for  spotting 
the  winner.  She  pointed  out  her  mother,  who  seemed 
nearly  as  young  as  she  did  herself.  In  fact,  we  became 
quite  thick.  I  got  really  fond  of  Mildred,  but  I  did  not 
speak  to  her  after  I  bowed  her  from  the  table  that 
night,  and  I  suppose  we  shall  never  meet  again.  Such 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS  241 

is  life!     And  Mildred!     How  is  it  with  you,  dear? 

It  was  quite  a  shock  to  see  the  incongruous  flash  of 
colored  garments  above  the  table  when  the  men  rose 
in  compliment  to  the  retiring  ladies.  We  looked  in- 
expressibly foolish  at  that  moment.  While  seated,  we 
duly  set  off,  in  our  masculine  way,  the  perfections  the 
ladies  displayed ;  but  when  they  expanded  their  fuller 
glories  by  standing,  the  inadequacy  of  the  men  to 
dignify  the  moment  was  grotesque.  I  could  see  the 
Duchess  bite  her  lip  and  turn  her  head,  and  a  momen- 
tary disturbance  was  to  be  noticed  in  many  faces. 

When  the  door  closed  our  countenances  relaxed  into 
broad  smiles. 

"Whose  little  game  is  this?"  said  the  Duke.  "It 
looks  like  Dot.  You've  all  played  up  to  it  well. 
Where  do  you  get  your  pyjamas,  Quinn?  That's  the 
way  they  should  be  made — plenty  of  room  and  but- 
toned round  the  ankle." 

I  told  him  it  was  part  of  a  fancy  dress. 

"Has  Waterbury  been  giving  a  fancy-dress  ball? 
He  could  go  as  he  is.  Has  he  taken  his  hands  out  of 
his  pockets  yet  ?  Move  up  this  end." 

Here  was  my  opening  and  I  made  the  most  of  it. 
The  story  was  quite  a  success.  The  Duke  was  de- 
lighted, and  the  other  men  amused.  Lord  Richard  was 
even  in  serious  difficulties  to  avoid  spilling  his  spoon- 
ful. 

"Don't  let's  join  the  ladies,"  he  murmured  to  his 
brother.  "Let's  shift  to  the  billiard-room  and  have  the 
caftis  there.  They'll  come  after  us — see  if  they  don't." 


242  THOMAS 

"Yes ;  yes ;  it'll  be  a  lesson  to  'em,"  said  the  Duke. 
Here,  Foster" — and  he  gave  orders  to  a  servant. 

When  we  got  to  the  billiard-room  the  tables  were 
set  out.  Two  men  played  billiards,  and  the  rest  of  us 
sat  down  to  bridge.  I  was  cut  with  Lord  John  against 
the  Duke  and  Freddy  Romer. 

"What  stakes?"  I  asked  a  little  nervously. 

"Oh,  anything  you  like,"  the  Duke  said,  consider- 
ately. "Half  a  crown  a  hundred?" 

"Better  make  it  half  a  sov.,"  Lord  John  put  in 
rather  quickly.  "Easier  to  add  up.  Suit  you?"  he 
asked. 

I  nodded,  consoling  myself  with  the  reflection  that 
it  would  be  all  right  if  I  won.  In  point  of  fact  I  won 
thirty-four  half-sovereigns  that  night,  a  pleasure  which, 
however,  involved  me  in  the  duty,  later  in  the  evening, 
of  receiving  a  ten-pound  note  from  the  Marchioness  of 
Darlingford  and  giving  her  six  pounds  ten  in  exchange 
for  it.  I  don't  like  these  transactions  with  ladies,  and 
I  would  much  rather  have  cried  "quits"  and  given  the 
Marchioness  five  bob  out  of  my  own  pocket  into  the 
bargain,  if  that  would  have  added  anything  to  her 
pleasure. 

I  felt  very  much  above  myself  when  I  sat  down, 
what  with  the  success  of  Sinbad's  drawers  and  the 
glow  of  my  exploits  as  a  raconteur,  and  the  first  time 
I  shuffled  I  managed  to  get  all  the  queens  safely  out  of 
the  pack.  I  wish  I  hadn't  done  it  now. 

When  these  cards  were  dealt  Lord  John  went  "two 
no  trumps,"  Freddy  having  previously  bid  two  dia- 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS   243 

monds.  The  Duke  led  ace,  king,  and  then  the  ten,  and 
looked  surprised  when  Freddy  threw  a  small  one  in- 
stead of  planking  on  the  queen  and  making  good  the 
three  other  diamonds  in  his  hand.  My  partner  then 
went  ahead  with  clubs  and  Freddy  and  the  Duke 
looked  at  one  another  oddly  when  the  latter  omitted 
to  put  the  queen  on  the  knave.  The  next  round  he 
threw  away. 
"Having  none?" 

"Then  you've  revoked,"  Lord  John  said  to  the  Duke. 
"You  hold  the  queen." 

But  the  Duke  said  he  hadn't  got  it. 
"It  must  have  been  thrown  with  another  card,"  he 
added,  and  he  counted  the  cards  in  the  tricks  on  the 
table. 

They  were  quite  correct. 
"On  the  floor?" 

No!    There  was  no  card  on  the  floor. 
"The  pack  must  be  short,"  said  Freddy,  counting  his 
cards. 

We  all  did  the  same. 

Freddy  was  perfectly  right.  There  were  only  forty- 
eight  cards.  We  all  looked  at  one  another  dumb- 
founded; at  least  they  did.  I  had  begun  to  see  that 
I  was  making  a  fearful  ass  of  myself. 

"Count  again,"  said  the  Duke.  "The  pack's  only 
just  been  opened." 

"No,"  I  said,  "here  they  are."    And  I  produced  the 
four  queens    from   my  breast   pocket. 
They  stared. 


244  THOMAS 

"I  took  them  out  when  I  shuffled,"  I  said. 

No  one  seemed  to  understand  me. 

"It  was  a  joke,"  I  explained. 

They  still  stared  in  astonishment. 

"I  often  do  it,"  I  said,  "and  no  one  ever  notices. 
This  is  the  first  time  anyone  has  found  out  that  the 
queens  are  missing  until  the  tricks  are  counted." 

They  all  looked  puzzled,  while  I  tried  to  appear  as 
cheerful  as  possible.  Then  Freddy  broke  silence  with 
a  cackle  of  laughter.  One  of  them,  anyhow,  had  seen 
the  joke. 

"Come  on,"  said  Lord  John.  "Start  fresh,"  and  he 
tore  the  score-sheet  off  the  block  and  marked  a  fresh 
one. 

They  are  a  bit  too  exclusive  in  their  ideas  of  a  joke 
at  Yend  Castle,  I  think. 

It  was  close  on  eleven  o'clock  before  the  door  opened 
and  the  Duchess,  followed  by  a  long  straggling  train  of 
ladies,  came  in.  "Here  they  are!"  she  exclaimed. 

No  one  got  up  but,  as  the  ladies  came  about  us,  first 
one  and  then  another  cut  in ;  other  tables  were  set  out, 
and  the  last  of  us  did  not  disband  till  nearly  three  in 
the  morning. 

There  was  no  one  waiting  to  undress  me  and  put  me 
to  bed,  but  short  of  that  everything  possible  had  been 
done  for  me.  My  sleeping  suit  was  laid  out  so  that  I 
could  almost  have  jumped  into  it,  and  the  display  on 
my  toilet-table  included  a  collapsible  drinking-cup  in 
an  aluminum  case  which  I  had  lost  for  years.  I  sup- 
pose it  had  been  found  in  some  recess  or  wallet  of  one 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS  24$ 

of  my  portmanteaux.  I  was  glad  to  get  it  again.  One 
mark  of  attention,  however,  baffled  me.  On  the  corner 
of  the  dressing-table,  standing  in  the  center  of  a  neat 
little  doily,  was  a  tumbler  with  one  inch  of  water  in 
the  bottom  of  it.  What  this  was  for  I  could  not 
imagine,  unless  Welch,  the  valet,  had  judged  from  my 
appearance  that  I  was  the  sort  of  man  who  ought  to 
gargle  before  getting  into  bed. 

Before  I  went  to  sleep  I  began  thinking  of  Rachel 
again.  In  point  of  fact,  although  I  haven't  said  so,. 
I've  been  thinking  a  lot  about  Rachel  of  late.  I 
couldn't  get  her  out  of  my  head  all  the  time  I  was  at 
Bourncombe,  and  by  this  continued  thinking  of  her  I 
have  somehow  gradually  lost  the  power  of  visualizing 
her.  In  the  early  days  of  our  separation  I  was  con- 
tinually aware  of  her  in  the  sense  that  I  was  conscious 
of  the  qualities  of  her  proximity,  and  my  eye  and  ear 
could  conjure  up  her  characteristic  movements  and 
graces  of  person,  and  the  cadence  of  her  speech  and 
laughter;  but  all  that  has  gone  now.  I  really  hardly 
know  what  she  looks  like.  I  can't  explain  it  exactly, 
but  it  is  so,  and  I  have  come  to  believe  that  I  have 
fallen  in  love  with  Rachel.  For  one  thing,  there  was 
a  poetry  book  in  my  bedroom  at  Willand's  to  prevent 
the  looking-glass  from  swinging  over,  and  I  read  it. 
That  is  good  evidence!  I  must  be  in  love.  I  feel  I 
should  like  to  have  a  bit  of  her  hair.  I  never  wanted 
any  hair  before,  and  that  seems  to  prove  it.  It  is 
nearly  quite  black  but  very  fine  and  silky,  I  can  re- 
member that  and  it  comes  over  by  her  ear  some- 


246  THOMAS 

how — I  can't  describe  it — and  all  piles  up  on  the  top 
of  her  little  head.  She  had  a  way  of  cramming  it 
away  snugly  under  a  frieze  hat  when  she  came  out  to 
play  golf,  and  it  made  her  look  like  a  cheeky  boy ;  but 
it  showed  her  neck,  and  her  head  looked  so  shapely 
with  the  loops  of  black  hair,  like  curls,  encircling  it 
tinder  the  brim  of  her  hat.  But  it's  the  flavor  of  her 
personality  that  haunts  me  most.  I  mean  to  see  her 
again,  by  jove!  And  talk  to  her!  I've  thought  of  a 
few  things  to  say  to  Rachel. 

I  was  wakened  in  the  morning  by  Welch  leaving 
the  room  with  Sinbad's  drawers  over  his  arm.  He 
was  taking  them  away  to  brush  and  fold  with  the 
rest  of  my  evening  wear.  He  returned  soon  after- 
wards with  a  tray  containing  tea,  milk,  cream,  white 
and  brown  bread-and-butter,  a  boiled  egg,  hot  buttered 
anchovy  toast  under  a  cover,  a  dose  of  whiskey  in  a 
vial,  and  a  siphon.  He  is  a  most  considerate  soul.  I 
really  had  no  use  for  the  things,  but  I  took  a  cup  of 
tea,  just  to  please  him,  and  tried  the  anchovy  toast, 
with  the  result  that  I  finally  finished  the  en- 
tire dish. 

The  house  seemed  deserted  when  I  went  down  to 
"breakfast  soon  after  nine.  I  found  the  room  empty  till 
two  servants  appeared  and  made  tea  for  me.  Later 
on,  a  lady  who  had  worn  turquoises  that  night  before 
came  in  and  nodded  to  me,  and  sat  down  at  the  other 
«nd  of  the  table.  We  ate  in  silence  after  she  had  asked 
how  late  we  had  been  that  morning.  Afterwards 
JFreddy  appeared  in  flannels.  I  heard  him  tell  the  tur- 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS    247 

quoise  lady  that  he  was  going  to  play  someone  a  match 
at  racquets  for  a  "pony." 

It  was  precious  dull.  Lord  Richard  had  not  finished 
breakfast  at  eleven,  for  I  saw  him  through  the  window. 
I  got  hold  of  the  Morning  Post,  and  went  to  sleep  over 
it  in  the  billiard-room — which  was  the  only  room  I 
knew  my  way  to.  I  was  roused  by  Lord  Imagweres 
(pronounced  Eamcs),  whom  I  had  partnered  the  night 
before.  He  came  in  and  proposed  a  stroll. 

"The  Duke  peppered  you,  didn't  he?"  he  asked,  as 
we  walked. 

I  told  him  "Yes." 

"That's  the  third  I've  heard  of,"  he  said.  "He's 
very  excitable.  I  always  feel  nervy  if  I  am  within 
reach  of  his  gun  when  it's  rabbits  or  the  cock.  Freddy 
— Captain  Romer — declares  he  once  saw  him  blow  the 
hat  off  a  girl's  head.  They  were  shooting  the  West 
Wood  near  the  cottage,  and  the  keeper's  daughter, 
dressed  to  kill,  came  along  behind  the  fence  with  a  hat 
full  of  feathers ;  just  then  someone  cried  'Ware  cock,' 
and  the  Duke  spun  round  and  shot  away  the  whole 
blooming  show." 

"It  was  a  pure  accident  in  my  case,"  I  said.  "He 
was  sitting  with  his  gun  across  his  knees,  tying  his 
bootlace  I  believe,  and  somehow  managed  to  touch  the 
thing  off.  Got  me  in  the  leg  at  four  yards." 

"Badly?" 

"No,  rather  luckily;  an  inch  more  and  he  would 
have  had  my  calf  off.  It  looks  now  as  though  someone 
had  taken  a  bite  out  of  me." 


248  THOMAS 

"No  wonder,  at  four  yards.    Cut  a  bit  clean 
you  say." 

We  were  in  a  secluded  spot.  There  was  no  one 
.about.  I  have  rather  got  into  the  habit  of  showing 
my  leg,  as  the  fact  that  the  job  was  done  by  a  duke 
.gives  a  sort  of  special  merit  to  my  little  show.  I  put 
my  foot  up  on  the  bottom  rail  of  the  fence  and  stripped 
•down  my  stocking. 

"By  jove ;  but  that's  funny !"  said  my  companion. 

At  that  moment  the  Duke  came  round  the  corner 
right  on  top  of  us. 

It  was  rank  bad  luck.  I  whipped  up  my  stocking, 
but  it  was  too  late.  I  wish  now  that  I  had  faced  it 
out  and  invited  the  Duke  to  have  a  look.  I  could  see 
he  was  a  bit  pipped.  His  eyes  fell,  and  then  he  turned 
and  whistled  his  dog. 

"Come  and  look  at  the  setters,"  he  said  to  Lord 
Imagweres.  I  joined  them,  feeling  I  was  making  a 
very  bad  third.  It  was  rather  a  sickener.  The  Duke 
had  been  very  much  cut  up  at  the  time  of  the  acci- 
dent. He  quite  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and  cursed 
himself  up  and  down,  and  smashed  the  gun  over  a 
log  of  wood,  and  was  awfully  nice  about  it  after- 
wards, and  couldn't  say  enough,  and  altogether  most 
kind.  I  felt  very  sorry  for  myself  indeed,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  had  better  clear  off  before  I  made 
any  more  mistakes.  It  sticks  in  my  mind  now  that  he 
probably  saw  what  I  was  doing  in  the  billiard-room. 
He  certainly  went  out  again  quickly.  Anyhow,  I  felt 
certain  that  I  had  finally  extinguished  my  Duke — 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS    249 

smashed  him  up  and  destroyed  him — for  good  and  all. 

At  lunch  things  had  brightened  up.  Some  of 
the  ladies  were  in  hats,  including  the  Duchess,  and  a 
party  appeared  to  have  come  over  by  motor  from 
somewhere.  It  was  a  free-and-easy  meal,  and  you 
could  have  everything  on  earth,  or  get  yourself  a 
biscuit  and  sherry.  I  managed  to  capture  my  hostess 
afterwards  to  say  good-bye,  but  she  told  me  she  hoped 
I  would  stay  till  the  morning  as  she  was  expecting  a 
lot  of  people  that  afternoon,  and  was  short  of  men  to 
play  lawn-tennis.  I  compromised  matters  by  making 
excuses  for  leaving  at  half -past  six. 

It  was  an  omnium  gatherum  I  found,  and  there 
was  a  gay  scene  in  the  gardens  at  four  o'clock.  There 
were  five  lawn-tennis  courts,  and  ladies  ready  to  keep 
all  occupied,  although  the  occasion  was  so  far  a 
formal  one  that  the  rigor  of  the  game  was  sacrificed 
to  elegance.  One  lady  merely  unbuttoned  her  glove 
and  thrust  her  hand  through.  I  fed  the  balls  back  to 
the  beauties  and  admired  their  frocks,  and  watched 
their  graceful  movements  and  their  smiles,  and  felt 
nearly  happy. 

Tea  was  carried  about  to  scattered  tables  under  the 
beeches  on  the  west  lawn,  each  with  its  gilded  epergne 
piled  high  with  exquisite  fruits.  It  was  while  I  was 
standing  talking  to  my  latest  partner  that  I  heard  a 
voice  near  me  say : 

"Why  are  they  taking  down  the  flag?" 

The  tower  of  the  huge  house  starts  from  the  ground 
as  though  it  were  going  to  make  a  job  of  it  and  be  a 


250  THOMAS 

church  spire  while  it  was  about  it ;  and  then  half-way 
up  funks  it,  and  ends  by  trying  to  pass  itself  off  as  the 
Belfry  at  Bruges.  It  is  salient  at  this  side  of  the 
castle,  and  carries  a  mast  which  can  be  seen  for  miles 
on  all  sides  above  the  trees.  I  glanced  up  and  ob- 
served the  Union  Jack,  which  had  been  flaunting  the 
summer  air  throughout  the  afternoon,  sliding  down- 
wards. 

A  minute  or  two  afterwards  I  noticed  another  lady 
gazing  perplexedly  through  her  lorgnette,  and  on  look- 
ing up  I  saw  what  might  have  been  a  long  string  of 
signal  flags  just  completing  their  journey  to  the  truck. 
The  sismal  was  not  being  made  with  flags,  however, 
but  with  what  appeared  to  be  the  family  washing ;  and 
a  brief  inspection  showed  that  this  particular  \vash 
was  confined  to  feminine  garments  of  a  diaphanous 
and  exciting  kind.  I  have  to  except  one  garment, 
however,  which  was  quite  prosaic ;  it  even  flapped. 

From  something  I  overheard  I  attributed  this  dis- 
play of  laundry  to  a  coalition  of  the  brains  of  Freddy 
and  Lord  Richard.  I  could  see  Freddy  on  the  lawn. 
He  kept  his  back  turned.  He  did  not  look.  I  did  not 
look.  No  one  looked,  but  everyone  saw.  The  exploit 
gave  general  pleasure,  as  was  quite  apparent,  although 
exhibitions  of  enjoyment  were  far  from  being  riotous. 
People  drifted  about  casually,  confiding  their  amuse- 
ment to  their  friends  with  laughing  shoulders  and 
skilful  precautions  against  the  nature  of  those  confi- 
dences being  guessed  by  others.  The  garden  sim- 
mered with  such  secret  engagements  for  the  rest  of 


MY  DUKE  BECOMES  A  TOTAL  LOSS    251 

the  afternoon.  Some  of  the  guests  were,  however, 
quite  out  of  it.  They  were,  physically,  like  badly- 
dressed  lost  sheep  not  knowing  where  to  turn.  Neme- 
sis was  at  work  overtaking  the  serious-minded. 

It  was  fully  five  minutes  before  the  signal  streamed 
down  in  a  series  of  panic  jerks.  The  flag  was  not  run 
up  again.  The  impression  the  afternoon^  guests 
would  be  likely  to  get  from  the  incident  was:  either, 
that  the  Duke's  washing  did  not  take  long  to  dry ;  or, 
that  the  laundry  people  found  they  had  made  a  mis- 
take in  the  day. 

Soon  after  six  I  slipped  away.  I  had  already  said 
good-bye  to  the  Duchess.  I  couldn't  come  across  my 
host,  but  I  saw  Lord  Richard  who  bid  me  farewell 
without  running  the  risk  of  spilling  a  drop.  Welch 
was  awaiting  me  and  finished  packing  while  I  bathed, 
and  held  my  socks  for  me  and  helped  me  with  my  but- 
tons. As  I  stole  away  in  Susan  I  got  a  last  glimpse 
through  the  trees  of  the  gay  crowd  still  thronging  the 
lawns.  I  was  thankful  to  be  out  of  it.  I  didn't  feel 
at  all  equal  to  facing  the  ladies'  attempt  to  go  one 
better. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO   ME 

SUSAN  was  full  of  beans  the  evening  I  left  Yend : 
I  have  never  before  known  her  to  show  such 
vigor.  It  was  as  if  association  with  swell  cars  in  the 
ducal  garage  had  given  her  a  better  opinion  of  her- 
self. The  little  trull  ran  up  hills  on  top  gear  as  if 
she  thought  she  was  a  forty  horse.  I  fancy  that  the 
float  of  the  carburetor  has  gone  wrong,  and  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  not  to  mend  it. 

Owing  to  this  unexpected  bounciness  on  Susan's 
part  I  was  before  my  time  when  next  day,  after  spend- 
ing a  night  at  Chescote,  I  approached  Hildon ;  and 
accordingly  I  took  a  leisurely  course  by  the  wooded 
lane  that  leads  through  the  "splash."  I  went  gently 
down  into  the  stream,  but  by  some  carelessness  with 
the  extra  air  managed  to  stop  the  engine  midway 
across.  The  water  was  up  to  the  axles  and,  as  the 
muddy  bottom  did  not  invite  wading,  it  occurred  to  me 
that  it  might  be  possible  to  start  the  engine  from  the 
bonnet.  I  kicked  off  my  shoes  so  as  not  to  scratch 
Susan ;  climbed  out  on  to  her  wing ;  and,  as  the 

252 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  253 

radiator  was  hot,  I  took  off  my  coat,  folded  it  over 
the  bonnet,  lay  across  it  and  got  to  work.  I  could 
reach  the  handle  all  right,  but,  try  as  I  would,  I  could 
not  give  it  such  a  swing  as  would  start  Susan  into 
life. 

While  I  was  struggling  in  this  posture  I  heard 
sounds  of  splashing  in  the  ford  behind  me,  and  looking 
over  my  shoulder  beheld  Rachel  in  her  buggy,  with 
Ham.  She  colored  a  little  when  she  saw  who  it  was, 
and  I  sat  on  the  bonnet  in  my  shirt-sleeves  with  my 
stockinged  feet  on  the  mud-guard,  and  chatted  with 
her.  She  looked  different,  somehow,  and  she  seemed 
remote  as  she  sat  above  me  with  the  water  between 
us.  Ham  was  restless,  and  she  soon  drove  on  saluting 
me  with  her  whip  as  she  splashed  out  on  to  the  road. 

I  climbed  back  into  the  seat  and  fell  into  a  muse 
as  I  pulled  off  my  stockings.  So  that  was  Rachel! 
She  seemed,  in  a  way,  just  like  any  other  pretty  girl 
when  one  met  her  like  that.  I  couldn't,  somehow, 
realize  that  it  was  actually  Rachel  who  had  a  moment 
before  driven  off  with  a  flourish  of  her  whip.  I 
stared  at  the  muddy  water  still  running  in  the  tracks 
of  her  wheels.  I  wanted  her  to  return  and  let  me 
have  another  look  at  her.  She  had  on  rather  a 
fetching  hat,  and  gloves  with  gauntlets  which  she  did 
not  usually  wear.  They  made  her  hands  look  ridicu- 
lously small :  in  fact,  all  coarse,  strong  sorts  of  clothing 
suit  Rachel.  They  seem  to  show  off  her  small  parts. 
I  realized  what  a  little  beauty  she  is  and  suddenly  felt 
quite  excited.  I  slipped  out  into  the  water  and  lost 


254  THOMAS 

no  time  in  starting  up  Susan  so  that  I  could  overtake 
Rachel  and,  at  least,  watch  her  back  as  she  drove 
along.  I  did  not,  however,  come  up  with  her,  and 
there  was  no  sign  of  her  trap  when  I  took  my  car 
round  to  the  stables  at  Hildon ;  nor  did  Rachel  her- 
self appear  till  everyone  had  finished  tea. 

Mrs.  Graham  was  all  smiles  when  I  was  shown  into 
the  drawing-room ;  but  when  a  movement  at  the  far 
end  of  the  room  revealed  little  Nibbs  I  felt  like  George 
III  who,  on  revisiting  Tavistock  after  four  months' 
absence,  exclaimed :  "What,  raining  still !"  It  ap- 
peared, however,  that  Nibbs  had  arrived  only  the  day 
before,  for  a  dance  which  Mrs.  Graham  is  giving  to- 
morrow. On  Saturday  there  is  to  tbe  a  village  enter- 
tainment got  up  by  Maud,  and  I  have  promised  to 
sing  "Tickle  Toby"  in  the  dress  of  Sinbad  the  Sailor 
with  my  face  blacked.  I  am  rather  looking  forward 
to  it.  It  will  be  a  success,  I  think,  with  "Hunka, 
Hunka"  as  a  follow  on.  Little  Nibbs  is  down  for  a 
piano  solo,  and  I  know  what  that  means.  Maud  is 
going  to  recite;  Rachel  refuses  to  do  anything,  but 
Valerie  is  to  sing.  I  did  not  know  that  Valerie  sang. 

"Oh  yes!  Valerie  sings,"  Mrs.  Graham  told  me 
without  enthusiasm.  "She  has  a  natural  voice,"  she 
added,  as  if  to  excuse  her. 

As  Mrs.  Graham  said  she  was  very  glad  to  have 
me  for  the  dance,  and  that  she  had  been  disappointed 
of  one  man  who  was  coming  to  stay  for  it,  I  sug- 
gested Bat  as  a  substitute  and  Mrs.  Graham  gave  me 
an  invitation  to  enclose  to  him.  That  will  make  it 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  255 

possible  for  Bat  and  me  to  enrich  Maud's  programme, 
with  our  special  "turn"  of  Professor  Schwartz  and 
Herr  Pipft — all  quite  original,  and  elaborated  between 
us  on  numerous  occasions.  I  have  told  him  to  bring 
his  make-up  and  have  asked  my  mother  to  send  my 
own  things. 

The  die  is  cast!  I  have  taken  the  momentous  step. 
The  thing  is  settled  at  last  for  good  or  ill.  I  am  going 
to  marry  Rachel.  I  decided  last  night  in  bed.  She  is 
a  dear  little  creature  (though  she  might  be  a  bit  taller 
and  no  harm),  and  it  is  wonderful  how  fond  I  have 
felt  of  her  to-day — after  making  up  my  mind,  I  mean. 
I  shall  be  proud  of  her,  and  I  am  looking  forward  to 
showing  her  to  Bat.  He  will  be  dazzled,  I  know.  I 
daresay  she  will  get  a  little  thinner  as  she  grows 
older ; — but  anyhow  I've  quite  made  up  my  mind.  Of 
course  it  is  a  very  serious  step  to  take,  I  know  that; 
but  everything  points  to  its  being  the  best  thing  to  do. 
My  mother  tells  me  I  ought  to  be  married ;  Bat  says 
it's  dangerous  to  put  it  off;  I  shall  not  get  another 
holiday  till  Christmas ;  I  am  in  love  with  Rachel ;  she 
is  certain  to  have  a  bit  of  money,  which  will  be  quite 
all  right ;  and  Mrs.  Graham  has  been  so  very  kind  and 
hospitable  that  it  will  be  really  a  pleasure  to  pay  her 
the  compliment. 

I  can't  feel  sure  whether  I  ought  to  tell  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham first,  or  not.  On  the  whole,  I  think  not.  It 
would  be  an  awkward  kind  of  interview  in  any  case. 
She  might  want  to  kiss  me,  or  suppose  that  I  expected 


256  THOMAS 

her  to,  and  I  hate  scenes.  I  feel  that  she  would  not 
have  asked  me  to  stay  if  I  were  not  the  sort  of  man 
she  would  wish  her  daughter  to  marry,  so  there  can 
be  no  positive  reason  why  I  should  take  her  into  my 
confidence  beforehand:  besides,  Rachel  has  probably 
prepared  her,  and  if  not  she  would  certainly  object 
to  her  mother  being  informed  before  she  herself  knew. 
It  would  be  a  snub  for  her,  running  with  the  great 
news,  to  be  met  with:  "Yes,  my  dear,  I  know.  He 
told  me  yesterday." 

No.  I  shall  not  tell  Mrs.  Graham.  I  have,  of 
course,  no  idea  of  keeping  the  thing  secret:  I  shall 
simply  take  Rachel  to  her  mother  and  we  will  tell  her 
together  and  joke  it  off,  and  that  will  be  much  the 
best  way.  It  will  be  good  fun,  too,  to  let  my  mother 
suppose  it  is  Valerie,  and  I  have  just  written  to  her 
to  tell  her  I  have  news  for  her  and  she  can  try  and 
guess  what  it  is.  Nita  will  take  to  Rachel  at  once,  I 
know;  and  she  to  Nita;  and  my  mother  will  be  de- 
lighted with  her.  In  fact,  there  will  be  no  awkward- 
ness anywhere. 

Rachel  is  a  shy  little  thing.  She  appears  more  re- 
served than  ever.  That  is  feminine  coyness,  of  course ! 
She  knows  well  enough  what  is  in  my  mind,  and  that 
would  naturally  incline  her  to  be  coy;  but  her  man- 
ner might  well  put  another  fellow  off  altogether:  in 
fact  she  rather  overdoes  the  defensive  business.  We 
went  round  the  five  holes  this  morning  four  times  and 
I  got  the  idea  Rachel  wants  me  to  speak.  Certainly  it 
was  she  who  proposed  golf;  and  I  saw  from  the  very 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  257 

offhand  way  she  asked  me  that  she  was  feigning  in- 
difference. It  is  the  contradictory  way  women  have: 
they  give  you  your  chance  and  then  act  as  though  to 
put  you  off.  Once,  as  we  left  one  of  the  greens,  I  be- 
gan to  make  way,  and  Rachel  cut  me  off  short  with 
"It's  your  honor,  Mr.  Quinn,"  and  ran  away  to  the 
tee  box. 

Never  mind!  To-morrow  night  your  number  will 
go  up,  my  Rachel.  I'll  get  you  in  a  corner,  and  it 
will  be  my  turn  then,  as  you  will  find,  my  little  darling. 
I  positively  ached  to-day  when  I  looked  at  the  girl, 
knowing  that  we  were  at  arm's  length  all  the  time. 
She  does  not  like  to  meet  my  gaze,  I  notice.  She 
knows.  She  knows. 

Captain  Druce,  of  tiger  renown,  was  playing  tennis 
here  this  afternoon  and,  as  I  heard  him  promise  Maude 
that  he  would  come  to  the  entertainment,  I  asked  him 
to  do  the  cat  in  my  show  with  Bat.  He  replied  that 
he  couldn't  "to  save  his  life,"  though  I  explained  that 
he  had  only  got  to  yowl  behind  the  scenes,  and  I  even 
gave  him  an  illustration  of  what  I  meant.  Captain 
Druce's  superb  reticence  evidently  consists  in  his  hav- 
ing nothing  to  say ;  and  he  appears  to  be  trying  to  get 
himself  filled  up  with  Rachel's  ideas,  for  she  chatters 
away  to  him,  and  he  swallows  it  all  like  a  fish. 

The  forthcoming  dance  and  entertainment  over- 
shadow everything  else.  It  is  great  fun.  After  din- 
ner to-night  Valerie  tried  over  her  songs  to  Nibbs's 
accompaniment.  Little  Nibbs  evidently  thinks  that 


258  THOMAS 

the  idea  of  a  song  is  to  give  the  accompanist  a  show, 
and  she  practised  her  effects  before  us  in  a  most  un- 
abashed manner;  ogling  the  music,  and  looking  aside 
at  Valerie,  and  waiting  on  her  long  notes  like  a  hun- 
dred-guinea pro,  on  the  job.  Valerie's  song  was  dole- 
ful. It  represented  a  dying  child  as  petitioning  its 
mother,  and  the  word  "mother"  got  rather  used  up 
before  the  song  came  to  an  end.  Her  second,  or 
"encore"  song,  as  Nibbs  called  it,  was  nearly  as  de- 
pressing. It  depicted  another  unfortunate  child  re- 
questing its  parent  to  come  out  of  a  public-house,  and 
telling  him  the  dreadful  results  of  inebriation  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  world  which  was  much  deeper  and 
more  varied  than  any  I  possess.  Valerie  sings  in  a 
low  mournful  voice  which  gains  some  effect  for  the 
songs  she  favors  by  being  a  little  out  of  tune. 

Bat  wired  to-day  to  Mrs.  Graham  accepting,  so 
that's  all  right ;  and  I  had  a  turn  at  my  part  on  the 
piano  at  a  private  moment  as  I  hoped,  but  it  brought 
little  Nibbs  on  the  scene  at  once  like  the  cry  of  "Meat" 
to  a  London  cat. 

"Do  you  play  the  piano,  Mr.  Quinn?"  she  asked, 
interrupting  me. 

I  told  her  I  did  not. 

She  seemed  satisfied  after  she  had  listened  a  few 
moments,  for  she  disappeared. 

We  broke  up  early  to-night  in  anticipation  of  late 
hours  to-morrow,  and  I  am  going  to  turn  in  at  this 
moment.  I  kiss  both  my  hands  in  the  direction  of 
Rachel.  What  is  that  dear  little  head  dreaming  about, 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  259 

I  wonder  ?    There  will  be  new  dreams  to  occupy  it  to- 
morrow, my  sweetheart! 

The  dance  is  over.  We  got  up  to  bed  at  about 
four,  but  I  could  not  sleep  and  I  rose  soon  after 
six,  and  had  a  cold  bath,  and  have  been  wandering 
about  the  garden  with  the  idea  that  I  might  meet 
Rachel  somewhere.  I  had  a  head  on  me.  At  eight 
o'clock  I  managed  to  get  hold  of  some  tea,  but  I  still 
feel  rotten,  and  I  wish  I  could  get  out  of  this  enter- 
tainment business  to-night.  I  am  now  sitting  in  the 
little  den  which  was  used  as  a  smoke-hole  by  the  men 
last  night.  The  litter  is  all  about  still,  and  the  stale 
smell.  Why  people  give  dances  I  can't  imagine.  It 
upsets  the  whole  house. 

Rachel  has  turned  me  down.  She  won't  accept  me. 
I  don't  seem,  however,  to  have  had  it  really  out  with 
her.  I  didn't  manage  as  well  as  I  might  have  done. 
The  chairs  were  all  wrong  for  one  thing,  and  she 
could  not  see  me  properly,  either.  She  is  an  odd 
girl.  If  I  had  found  her  in  the  garden  just  now  I 
should  have  tried  her  again,  but,  as  it  is,  I  shall  let 
her  alone  for  a  bit  and  see  how  that  will  work.  She 
will  notice  the  difference  when  I  don't  play  up  to  her 
and  go  away  and  don't  write  for  weeks.  Girls  like  to 
be  made  a  fuss  over.  Besides,  I  must  preserve  my 
dignity,  and  Rachel  ought  not  to  be  so  outspoken. 
She  asked  me  to  forgive  her,  I  admit,  and  I  said  I 
would ;  but  I  didn't  see  clearly,  then,  as  I  do  now.  It 
all  seems  different  this  morning.  Of  course  I  do  for- 


260  THOMAS 

give  her  all  the  same,  but  that  doesn't  mean  that  I'm  to 
behave  exactly  as  if  nothing1  had  happened.  I'm 
glad  that  I  forgot  to  post  the  letter  to  my  mother. 

Bat  turned  up  yesterday  afternoon  all  serene,  and 
a  fellow  named  Marchland  with  a  sister.  I  hope 
they'll  enjoy  themselves  more  than  I  am  doing,  but  I 
can  think  of  nothing  except  what  happened  last  night. 

I  have  just  been  to  look  at  the  place  again.  It  is 
under  the  stairs  where  the  hot-water  pipes  are,  as  you 
go  towards  the  conservatory.  They  put  a  screen 
across.  Someone  has  moved  the  chairs  since  we  were 
there.  The  carriage  rug  thrown  over  the  hot-water 
coil;  and  the  pots  of  fern;  and  the  Chinese  lantern 
in  the  passage  are  all  there;  but  they  somehow  look 
shabby  and  stupid  in  the  morning  light. 

The  dancing  began  soon  after  half-past  nine. 
Rachel  was  in  a  plain  white  frock  with  pearls  and  just 
one  red  flower  hanging  in  her  hair.  I  did  not  notice 
her  dress  much.  Nibbs  was  gorgeous  to  the  point  of 
being  revolting.  Her  arms  were  bare  to  the  shoulders, 
and  she  was  covered  with  powder  like  a  chicken  just 
dredged  for  the  roasting-pan,  so  that  she  left  chalky 
stains  on  the  coats  of  the  men  she  danced  with.  It 
was  on  her  eyelashes  too,  and  made  her  seem  like  a 
darling  little  miller.  She  looked  an  alluring  little 
devil  and  no  mistake.  She  must  have  been  borrowing 
jewellery  right  and  left,  for  she  was  hung  over  with 
diamonds  and  sported  a  tiara  that  would  have  graced 
the  wife  of  a  pork-packer  or  of  a  prince.  You  could 
hear  her  rustling  all  over  the  room.  She  wore  a  dress 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  261 

of  thin,  white,  shining  silk  swathed  close  about  her 
little  figure,  with  a  sort  of  russet  net  weighted  with 
gilded  beads,  which  embraced  her  and  showed  off  all 
the  lithe  movements  of  her  body.  The  men  crowded 
about  her  like  flies ;  and  you  could  see  them  watching 
her  as  she  danced,  and  pulling  their  moustaches.  I 
won't  try  to  describe,  her  hair,  but  directly  I  saw  it  I 
knew  who  the  man  with  a  bag  like  a  piano-tuner  was, 
whom  I  had  met  in  the  corridor  when  I  went  upstairs 
to  dress :  and  oh !  her  two  little  damned  golden  slip- 
pers, running  up  to  a  peak  on  the  instep  with  just  one 
naughty  paste  button  against  the  stocking,  making  her 
foot  seem  as  soft  and  delicate  as  a  pretty  hand  in  a 
glove.  If  I  ever  go  to  hell  I  shall  expect  to  find  Nibbs 
there  in  her  ballroom  rig-out,  just  on  the  other  side 
of  a  fiery  chasm.  I  felt  I  should  like  to  throw  a  bucket 
of  tar  over  her. 

I  could  only  get  two  dances  with  Rachel.  She 
seemed  to  have  promised  her  whole  programme. 
After  our  first  dance,  when  I  was  walking  her  off  to 
the  nook  under  the  stairs,  she  suddenly  left  my  arm 
and  sat  down  beside  Beatrice  Wyndacotte ;  and  when 
she  joined  me  again,  with  an  apology,  she  seated  her- 
self in  the  hall,  saying:  "We  shall  know  directly  the 
music  begins,  here." 

Before  our  second  dance  I  found  an  opportunity  to 
visit  the  place  under  the  stairs  again,  to  see  that 
everything  was  ready,  and  the  chairs  placed  right ;  and 
when  the  dance  was  over  I  gave  Rachel  no  chance  of 
breaking  away.  She  is  a  girl  who  must  be  handled 


262  THOMAS 

firmly.  If  I  am  more  firm  in  future  I  shall  get  her: 
I  have  learnt  that. 

"I  want  you  to  come  with  me,"  I  said,  as  I  hurried 
her  off. 

She  tripped  experimentally  into  the  nook  on  my  arm, 
like  a  little  scared  rabbit,  and  stood  looking  about  her 
until  I  indicated  the  chair,  and  then,  in  seating  her- 
self, she  shifted  it  so  that  she  somewhat  faced  me.  I 
tried  to  correct  this  as  I  took  my  seat,  but  my  own 
chair  had  fouled  the  water-pipes  and  wouldn't  come 
round. 

"I've  got  something  to  tell  you,"  I  said,  as  I  un- 
folded the  screen  across  the  opening. 

Rachel  looked  at  me  seriously  with  her  lips  parted, 
as  I  could  see  although  the  light  was  dim,  but  she 
said  nothing. 

"Can't  you  guess?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I've  fallen  head  over  ears  in  love  with  you,  Ra- 
chel." 

"Oh,  don't,  don't;  you  mustn't"  she  exclaimed, 
looking  quickly  about  her  as  though  she  were  startled. 

"But  I  must,"  I  laughed.  "I  can't  help  myself ;  I'm 
absolutely  bowled  over." 

"Oh,  please,  please  don't  say  such  things,  Mr. 
Quinn." 

"But  they're  the  only  things  I've  got  to  say :  besides, 
you  know  I  do,  dear.  I'm  really  in  love  this  time. 
You're  perfectly  sweet.  I  can  think  of  nothing  else 
but  you.  There's  no  one  else  I  think  so  much  of. 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  263 

I'm  proud  of  you,  Rachel.  I've  put  off  saying  it,  and 
put  off,  but  now  I've  made  up  my  mind,  and  I  brought 
you  here  to  tell  you ;  I  planned  it  days  ago  so  you  need 
have  no  doubts  about  it,  sweetheart.  I  really  and  truly 
love  you,  with  all  my  heart;  I'm  proud  of  you  and  I 
don't  care  who  tries  to  chaff  me.  I  have  not  told  your 
mother  because  I  thought  you  would  rather  we  went 
to  her  together ;  let  me  kiss  my  dear  one." 

She  was  clasping  and  pressing  her  ringers,  and 
staring  in  front  of  her.  As  I  said  this  I  slipped  my 
hand  under  her  elbow,  but  she  eluded  me  in  some 
way,  and  when  I  leant  to  her  she  turned  away  her 
head.  I  couldn't  capture  her,  for  the  chairs  were  all 
wrong,  and  when  I  tried  to  shift  mine  it  was  fast. 

"No!  No!"  she  cried  in  a  whisper.  "You  mustn't. 
Oh,  why  do  you  talk  to  me  like  this?  Why  can't  it 
all  be  as  it  was  at  first?" 

"Because  I  love  you,  Rachel ;  don't  you  understand,, 
sweetheart?  I  want  to  marry  you." 

I  slid  forward  on  to  one  knee  and  caught  both  her 
hands  in  mine.  She  pretended  to  try  and  pull  them 
away. 

"Oh,  please  let  go;  you  mustn't,  you  mustn't;  it's 
all  a  mistake,"  she  whispered  breathlessly. 

"No,  my  darling,"  I  said  gently,  but  I  couldn't  help 
laughing  a  little.  "There's  no  mistake;  it's  just  ex- 
actly what  I  tell  you.  I  want  to  marry  you.  I  don't 
want  to  be  separated  from  you  ever  again." 

"Oh,  why  do  you  say  these  things !  Why,  why  did 
you  ever  come  back !" 


264  THOMAS 

"To  tell  you  that  I  want  you  to  be  my  wife,"  I  said 
impressively. 

"But — Oh,  Mr.  Quinn,  I  am  so  sorry,  but — but — I 
don't  want  to  be."  She  got  one  hand  free,  and  then 
tegan  nervously  untwining  my  fingers  from  the  other. 

"Don't  want  to  be  ?"  I  asked  gently. 

"No — Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  I  never  thought  it  would 
be  like  this." 

"Yes,  Rachel,  I  know  exactly  how  you  feel.  It's  all 
quite  natural,  dear.  You  must  wait  till  to-morrow.  It 
is  the  sudden  surprise,  so  don't  fret:  come." 

"No,  no,  you  mustn't.  Oh,  why  do  you  go  on." 
She  gazed  full  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  then  suddenly 
put  her  hands  over  her  face.  "Oh  dear,  oh  dear;  I 
never  thought  you  would  feel  so." 

"But  you  see  I  do,  Rachel  dear,"  I  said,  trying  to 
take  her  hands  down.  Directly  I  touched  them  she 
pulled  them  away  and  hid  them  behind  her  back. 

"You  simply  mustn't  go  on  saying  these  things,  Mr. 
Quinn." 

"Why  not,  dear?" 

"Because  it  can  never,  never,  never  be." 

I  couldn't  help  smiling  at  her  amphasis.  "But  my 
dearest  girl,  you  are  not  reasonable,"  I  told  her.  "If 
we  love  one  another  what's  to  prevent  it  ?" 

"Oh,  don't  you  understand  ?"  she  said,  with  her  face 
looking  piteous  and  her  hands  clasping  and  pressing 
one  another. 

"Why  it  can  never  be?"  I  said.  "No,  I  don't !  Tell 
me." 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO   ME         265 

She  seemed  troubled.  "Its  so  nice  of  you — I  know 
— but — you  see "  she  faltered. 

"Well?"  I  said,  smiling  at  the  embarrassment. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,  Mr.  Quinn;  I  can't  help  it,  it's 
really  not  my  fault,  but — well,  I'm  afraid  I  don't — 
don't  you  see?" 

"Don't  what?" 

"Don't  feel  as  you  do." 

"Don't  feel  as  I  do!— but  in  what  way,  Rachel?" 

"Oh,  why  do  you  make  me  say  it.  I — I  don't  love 
you,  Mr.  Quinn." 

She  blushed  crimson ;  I  could  see  her  neck  even  in 
the  dim  light.  Her  face  was  hidden.  It  was  certainly 
a  hopeful  sign,  but  I  was  naturally  utterly  taken 
aback. 

"You  don't  care  about  me  at  all  perhaps?"  I  said 
with  an  effort,  after  a  pause. 

She  slightly  shook  her  bowed  head. 

"You  dislike  me,  you  mean?" 

She  looked  up.  "Oh,  Mr.  Quinn — you  know  I  never 
said  that." 

Her  gaze  was  so  frank  and  searching  that  I  couldn't 
meet  it  somehow.  I  sat  back  in  my  chair  and  looked 
at  her  through  the  gloom.  She  was  sitting  with  her 
head  bowed  over  her  glove  and  was  trying  to  twist  off 
one  of  the  buttons  with  her  fingers.  It  was  such  a 
facer  that  I  could  find  nothing  to  say.  There  really 
was  nothing  to  say.  I  wanted  to  think.  She  glanced 
up  at  me  pleadingly,  I  thought,  and  then  began  atten- 
tively smoothing  out  an  end  of  ribbon  across  her  knee. 


266  THOMAS 

I  don't  think  I  knew  how  fond  I  was  of  her  till  that 
moment. 

The  music  began  in  the  distance.  She  got  out  her 
programme  and  examined  it.  Then  she  suddenly  stood 
up. 

As  I  reached  to  open  the  screen  back  for  her, 
she  turned  to  me  and  our  gaze  met.  The  light  fell 
upon  her  face  for  the  first  time.  The  eyes  were 
glowing,  the  face  looked  piteous. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Quinn,  I  am  so  sorry:"  her  voice  broke. 
"Say  you  forgive  me." 

I  did  it  then :  on  her  warm  perfumed  neck.  She  did 
not  shrink.  Then  I  held  her  at  arm's  length  with  her 
two  hands  in  mine,  and  looked  at  her.  I  had  forgiven 
her.  As  I  looked  at  her  I  felt  quite  ready  to  forgive 
her  again. 

I  didn't  mind  it  so  much  at  first.  That  moment  of 
intimacy  seemed  to  bear  me  up,  but  as  the  evening 
wore  on  it  made  me  feel  dreary  to  see  Rachel  flitting 
round  the  ballroom  with  other  men,  and  apparently 
enjoying  herself;  and  I  was  always  wondering  and 
uneasy  when  she  was  not  in  sight.  I  was  careful 
not  to  let  her  know  I  was  looking  at  her  though,  and 
once  when  I  caught  her  looking  at  me  I  felt  gratified ; 
it  was  as  though  I  had  scored  a  point.  At  supper  she 
sat  at  the  same  table  with  me,  and  Bat  was  there  too, 
and  we  kept  things  gay  in  spite  of  the  heavy  decorum 
of  Druce,  who  was  Rachel's  companion.  I  did  not 
want  Rachel  to  think  I  minded.  It  was  only  a  first 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  267 

bid,  and  the  wine  was  a  stand-by.  Champagne  helps 
one  to  forget,  and  I  didn't  care  how  much  of  it  I  swal- 
lowed. Bat  got  very  jolly  too,  and  after  the  guests 
had  gone  and  the  ladies  retired  to  bed  we  two,  and 
Marchland,  lit  cigars  and  did  a  "razzle-drazzle"  up 
and  down  the  supper-room  and  upset  a  table.  I  re- 
member Bat  interfering  when  I  was  trying  to  take  the 
bust  of  the  late  Graham  off  its  pedestal  to  put  it  out  in 
the  garden.  I  resented  the  sour  look  with  which  he 
stood  apart  from  our  revels. 

Another  day  has  passed.  It  is  half-past  six  on 
Sunday  morning  now,  and  here  I  am  once  more  sitting 
in  the  Smoking  Den.  Again,  last  night,  I  could  not 
sleep.  I  felt  perfectly  rotten ;  I  kicked  about  in  bed, 
and  then  tried  to  read,  and  then  kicked  about  again  till 
I  could  stand  it  no  longer  and  got  up.  This  business 
with  Rachel  is,  of  course,  the  main  cause  of  it,  but 
there  was  more  on  top  yesterday.  I  don't  think  I  ever 
spent  such  a  heavy  day  in  my  life.  To  begin  with,  lest 
I  should  be  feeling  too  frisky  and  bobbish,  the  Hon. 
Rupert  Heronshaw,  my  chief,  chose  yesterday  morn- 
ing on  which  to  honor  me,  for  once  and  away,  with 
an  autograph  letter :  just  to  show  what  he  can  do  when 
he  tries,  the  little  bounder.  I  found  this  letter  when  I 
left  off  writing  yesterday  and  went  to  the  breakfast- 
room.  It  had  been  re-addressed  by  Nita,  so  she  is 
back  with  my  mother  again.  Poor  old  Nita ! 


268  THOMAS 

"H.M.  OFFICE  OF  STATISTICS, 

August  yd,  19 — 
MR.  THOMAS  A.  QUINN, 

I    have    to-day    considered    the    circumstances 

20  P 

dealt  with  in  K ! — 1  and  certain  other  matters,  and 

N.SI. 

have  directed  that  you  lost  twelve  months  seniority. 

You  will  do  well  to  note  that  no  official  can  continue 
to  lose  seniority  and  remain  in  His  Majesty's  Service. 
The  discipline  of  this  office  must  be  maintained. 

As  one  who  remembers  your  father,  I  will  add  that 
he  is  no  true  son  of  that  father  who  shuts  his  eyes  to 
the  elementary  obligations  of  manhood.  This  office  is 
not  to  be  regarded  as  a  house  of  recreation  for  super- 
annuated schoolboys. 

RUPERT  HERONSHAW, 
Sec." 

Short  and  sweet  with  the  sting  in  the  tail;  "Prince 
Rupert"  doing  his  damnedest.  He  is  a  little  man,  as 
red  as  a  fox,  with  a  big  eyeglass  glued  to  his  face, 
which  he  only  drops  when  he  particularly  wants  to  see 
something.  He  is  always  buttoned  up ;  is  as  smart  as 
a  new  pin;  stays  till  seven  every  night;  never  turns 
a  hair,  and  keeps  a  tongue  in  his  head  which  can  flick 
you  like  a  wet  towel. 

I  don't  care.  The  office  is  an  old  goat  anyway. 
They  can  sack  me  if  they  like,  and  I  will  go  to  the 
Colonies,  and  make  a  name  for  myself,  and  perhaps 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  269 

Rachel  will  realize  that  she  has  made  a  mistake,  and 
feel  sorry.  But  I'll  never  propose  to  another  girl.  I've 
quite  made  up  my  mind  to  that.  They  lead  you  on  to 
it  just  for  the  pleasure  of  telling  you  they  dislike  you, 
and  getting  on  top.  Women  are  no  good  for  anything 
except  to  make  pets  of,  and  flash  about. 

When  Marchland  turned  up  at  breakfast  yesterday, 
while  I  was  eating  toast  and  chips  of  lean  ham,  I  asked 
him  if  he  would  do  the  Cat  for  us.  I  showed  him 
what  was  wanted,  though  it  made  me  feel  ill  to  re- 
member what  I  was  in  for.  He  caught  on  to  the  idea, 
however,  and  was  practising  all  day,  so  that  Mrs. 
Graham  asked  at  large:  "What  is  that  dreadful  noise 
I  keep  hearing?" 

Marchland  did  the  "meeow,"  and  the  snarl  of  an 
angry  cat,  and  then  the  yowl  of  a  cat  in  love,  and  at 
last  worked  up  to  a  really  good  imitation  of  two  cats 
fighting.  I  realized  that  he  would  enrich  the  perform- 
ance, but  there  promised  to  be  too  much  cat.  We  had 
a  rehearsal  in  the  afternoon,  and  as  we  couldn't  sub- 
due Marchland's  enthusiasm  we  decided  to  have  two 
cats  to  keep  him  in  countenance,  and  I  requisitioned 
the  kitchen  cat,  and  another  I  had  seen  frequenting 
the  stables. 

It  was  difficult  to  keep  Nibbs  away  while  we  were 
rehearsing,  but  at  last  Bat,  who  manages  her  very 
well,  and  had  made  extraordinary  progress  in  the  one 
day,  cried: 

"Here!  Outside  Teresina!"  and  took  her  by  the 
shoulders,  and  ran  her  out  of  the  room.  Nibbs  seemed 


\ 


270  THOMAS 

delighted.  Her  name  is  not  Teresina  of  course,  though 
Bat  calls  her  so  publicly,  and  refers  to  her  by  that 
name  to  Mrs.  Graham  and  the  others. 

"She's  all  right,"  said  Bat,  grinning  to  us  when 
he  returned.  A  little  later  Nibbs  was  smiling  in 
through  the  window  and  Bat  pulled  down  the  blind  in 
her  face.  Miss  Nibbs,  I  may  mention,  had  managed 
to  get  through  the  night  without  taking  down  her  hair. 
She  was  preserving  it  for  the  evening. 

"Why  are  you  so  mouldy?"  Bat  challenged  me. 
"You  were  all  right  last  night,  and  a  bit  over.  What's 
the  matter  with  you?  You'll  let  the  show  down." 

I  told  him  I  wasn't  mouldy  and  should  be  all  right 
when  the  time  came,  but  I  didn't  feel  much  in  key  for 
the  buffoonery  I  was  engaged  to.  I  went  out  for  a 
walk  so  as  to  avoid  appearing  at  tea.  Rachel  acted 
as  though  everything  were  all  right.  I  thought  it  well 
to  let  her  see  what  tea  was  like  when  I  wasn't  there. 
I  had  still  a  day,  I  thought,  in  which  to  bring  her 
round. 

Bat  persuaded  me  to  come  down  to  dinner  in  my 
make-up.  He  said  he  was  doing  it  because  it  would 
make  "Teresina"  want  to  kiss  him.  As  we  had  got 
to  start  directly  after  dinner,  I  agreed,  and  we  met  in 
the  smoke-room  so  as  to  make  our  entry  to  the  draw- 
ing-room together,  at  the  last  moment.  As  Professor 
Schwartz,  Bat  wears  a  mane  of  gray  hair  like  a  sky 
terrier;  while  I,  as  Herr  Pip  ft,  have  a  bald  forehead 
and  a  fringe  of  lank,  black  hair,  hanging  over  my  col- 
lar all  round.  We  both  are  wrinkled  and  have  red 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  271 

noses  and  horn  spectacles.  I  didn't  enjoy  it,  how- 
ever, and  would  have  been  glad  to  be  quit  of  the  whole 
thing.  It  was  then,  just  before  we  joined  the  others, 
that  Bat  told  me  the  news. 

"There's  a  flutter  in  the  dovecot  here,"  he  said. 
"Teresina  tells  me  that  the  little  black  one  is  engaged 
to  that  great  big  chap  who  was  here  last  night;  Cap- 
tain someone  or  other.  I  suppose  it  was  what  the 
dance  was  for:  and  a  jolly  nice  dance  it  was  too.  I 
should  have  proposed  to  Teresina  myself  only  I  was 
afraid  she  would  accept  me.  Come  on,  there's  din- 
ner!" he  broke  off,  slapping  me  on  the  back.  "Buck 
up!" 

He  had  given  me  quite  a  heavy  let  down.  I  was 
thankful  for  my  disguise  when  I  seated  myself  at 
the  table.  Everyone  was  very  merry  in  anticipation 
of  the  night's  amusement,  and  Rachel  seemed  espec- 
ially gay,  but  I  could  not  help  feeling  dreary.  At  a 
moment  when  I  was  absorbed  in  my  own  thoughts  I 
suddenly  became  aware  that  everyone  was  looking  at 
me  and  laughing,  and  that  Bat  was  calling  me  "Ham- 
let." As  usual,  Bat  could  not  let  his  joke  alone,  and 
worked  it  to  death.  I  got  quite  sick  of  myself. 

"The  Dane  is  not  feeding  properly,"  he  said.  "Here, 
I  say,  it's  no  good  waiting  for  the  cheese-straws,  Ham- 
let. You  can't  make  a  meal  off  them  you  know." 

While  we  were  putting  on  our  wraps  in  the  en- 
trance hall  Captain  Druce  arrived,  evidently  as  a  duly- 
appointed  escort.  He  was  smiling  at  the  open  door,  a 
center  of  attention,  as  he  seemed  to  expect.  I  saw 


272  THOMAS 

Mrs.  Graham  looking  across  to  where  his  head  towered 
above  the  others,  with  an  intent  look  of  pleasure,  as 
she  fastened  her  mantle.  Then,  in  turning,  she  caught 
my  eye. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you  this  afternoon,  Mr.  Quinn, 
but  I  did  not  see  you,"  she  said,  "that  Captain  Druce 
and  Rachel  are  engaged.  Only  since  last  night" — 
she  smiled  to  me — "but  we  are  announcing  it  to-day. 
They  are  so  happy,"  she  added,  looking  again  towards 
the  laughing  group  at  the  door. 

The  carriages  drove  up. 

"Here,  I've  lost  the  Prince,"  I  heard  Bat  announce. 
"Has  anyone  seen  a  Dane  about.  Come  along,"  he 
said,  approaching  me. 

He  led  me  out  through  the  group  at  the  door,  and 
on  the  step  brought  me  up  short,  and  confronted  me 
with  Captain  Druce. 

"Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  friend  Hamlet,"  he 
said. 

Druce,  of  course,  had  nothing  to  say  and  didn't 
know  what  to  do.  He  bowed  in  his  superb  manner 
and  I  felt  nettled.  However,  as  I  stood  idiotically  be- 
fore him,  I  looked  him  steadily  in  the  face  through  the 
empty  horn  spectacle  rims;  flung  up  one  arm;  yelped 
as  if  someone  was  hurting  me;  danced  half  a  dozen 
steps  of  a  Highland  fling  with  great  speed  and  vio- 
lence; span  round  on  my  toe,  and  walked  gravely 
down  the  steps  to  the  carriage.  I  quite  turned  the 
tables  on  Druce,  and  Bat,  who,  with  his  unerring  in- 
stinct for  personality,  had  designed  to  make  fools  of 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  273 

both  of  us  was,  no  doubt,  somewhat  disappointed. 
We  arrived  nobly  late  to  find  the  room  filled  with 
clean,  smiling  old  women  and  some  of  the  elder  men, 
with  a  sprinkling  of  juveniles,  and  a  racket  of  sophisti- 
cated louts  shuffling  and  laughing  in  the  back  benches  ; 
a  natural  antithesis  to  the  Hildon  party  strung  out 
with  bare  shoulders  in  the  front  row. 

The  curtain  went  up  and  discovered  the  Rector 
standing  before  a  table  with  a  green  baize  cover,  on 
which  was  a  lighted  bedroom  candle  and  some  papers. 
He  seemed  to  invite  applause,  but  not  to  expect  it. 
Someone  crowed  like  a  cock  in  the  back  of  the  room. 
A  sturdy  farmer  got  up  and  went  down  the  hall  and 
there  was  the  sound  of  a  blow.  No  more  cocks 
crowed  that  night.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  shuf- 
fling and  coughing  while  the  Rector  enlarged  in  de- 
tail upon  the  voracity  of  the  church  stove.  Then  the 
curtain  came  down. 

It  went  up  again  on  the  Rector's  announcement  that 
Mr.  Fredericks  would  play  an  overture,  "The  Ten 
Plagues  of  Egypt,"  and  the  schoolmaster  was  revealed 
seated  at  the  piano.  He  was  received  with  applause 
which  he  did  not  acknowledge  in  any  way  whatever. 
He  announced  each  plague  before  he  played  it.  I  pre- 
ferred the  Boils. 

The  Rector  next  announced,  "Recitation.  'Lochin- 
var,'  by  Miss  Maud  Graham." 

Maud  was  discovered  in  a  pink  dress  and  holding 
a  book.  She  declaimed  the  poem  threateningly,  and 


274  THOMAS 

changed  the  book  from  one  hand  to  the  other  in  order 
to  perform  the  action  of  young  Lochinvar  drawing  his 
sword:  "And  save  his  good  broadsword  (wallop)  he 
weapon  had  none."  The  reciter  here  paused  and  re- 
ferred to  her  book  to  see  what  came  next.  It  was  the 
sort  of  recitation  one  would  not  throw  at  a  dog.  It 
was  received  coolly. 

Then  the  hand-bell  ringers  were  revealed,  amid 
much  laughter  and  the  encouragement  of  individual 
performers  from  the  body  of  the  hall.  There  were 
six  ringers  grouped  round  a  music-stand,  each  ringer 
with  two  bells,  and  they  played  many  tunes.  The  dif- 
ficulty of  playing  in  the  key  of  G  without  F  sharp  was 
got  over  by  playing  F  natural.  The  two  lowest  bells 
were,  further,  in  charge  of  a  ringer  who  required  a 
nod  or  a  wink  to  make  him  ring;  and  this  seriously 
interfered  with  the  time,  as  one  nudge  was  not  always 
enough  to  break  the  trance  in  which  this  ringer  gazed 
at  the  music-stand.  Tune  followed  tune,  and  the 
Rector  stood  up  once  or  twice  in  an  uncertain  way, 
and  then  sat  down.  He  was  beginning  to  try  to  make 
the  ringers  stop  ringing.  The  ringers  had  the  advan- 
tage however.  A  hesitating  movement  among  them  at 
one  time  raised  hopes  which  were  shattered  by  a  fresh 
book  of  tunes  being  put  up  on  the  stand.  Maud  then 
disappeared  into  the  retiring  room,  and  directly  the 
first  tune  of  the  second  book  ended  the  curtain  came 
down.  It  rose  again  for  the  ringers  to  bow  their 
acknowledgments.  They  were  discovered  leaving  the 
stage,  but  finding  the  curtain  up  they  quickly  fell  into 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  275 

place  and  had  opened  the  book  again,  when  the  cur- 
tain descended  and  extinguished  them  for  good  and 
all. 

Valerie  got  through  her  songs  with  Nibbs  well ;  and 
made  a  great  success.  I  think  they  were  the  best  ap- 
preciated items  in  the  programme. 

Next  Bat  and  I  appeared. 

Bat  plays  the  fiddle  a  bit;  in  fact  he  was  quite  a 
£ood  hand  until  he  got  ashamed  of  the  accomplish- 
ment. Our  turn  consists  in  "The  Last  Rose  of  Sum- 
mer— with  variations,"  by  Professor  Schwartz  (at  the 
piano,  Herr  Pipft).  Rachel  and  Captain  Druce  were 
just  in  front,  and  I  could  observe  the  way  she  turned 
to  him  inviting  him  to  share  her  amusement. 

We  come  on  hand  in  hand,  and  bow  elaborately. 
Then  Pipft  goes  to  the  piano  and  sounds  a  crashing 
chord  which  makes  Schwartz  start  violently,  and  drop 
his  bow.  Then  the  business  of  tuning  begins  in  earn- 
est. Schwartz  goes  miserably  round  the  stage,  trying 
to  find  a  convenient  place  to  rest  the  head  of  the 
fiddle  so  as  to  get  a  purchase  on  the  pegs,  and  even 
tries  Pipft's  bald  head  in  his  desperation.  Pipft  expos- 
tulates. Pipft  meanwhile  gradually  becomes  absorbed 
in  testing  the  piano  as  though  tuning  it  as  well.  At 
last  we  are  ready.  Pipft  keeps  touching  the  opening 
note,  but  Schwartz  hangs  fire ;  he  is  waiting  to  catch  a 
sneeze.  Then  they  bite  together,  but  Schwartz  feels  at 
that  moment  he  would  be  more  comfortable  without 
his  collar,  so  he  takes  it  off;  and  this  reminds  Pipft 
that  he  has  not  removed  his  cuffs,  and  he  pulls  off  two 


276  THOMAS 

celluloid  reversibles  fastened  with  solitaires,  and 
places  them  conspicuously  on  the  piano  beside 
Schwartz's  collar  and  tie. 

Then  we  make  a  fair  start. 

"  Tis  the  last  rose" — Schwartz  here  plays  E  natural 
instead  of  E  flat,  and  though  Pip  ft  hammers  on  E 
flat  to  prompt  him,  and  even  calls  to  him  behind  his 
hand,  he  persists  in  playing  E  natural  throughout,  be- 
ing so  much  caught  up  in  the  rapture  of  his  own  per- 
formance as  to  be  deaf  to  everything  else.  Then  the 
cats  join  in,  and  at  last  the  persistency  of  the  cats  is 
such  that  Pipft  calls  Schwartz's  attention  to  the  din, 
and  after  some  fruitless  search  they  both  run  and  look 
into  the  piano  together,  from  which  they  appear  to 
extract  two  cats. 

"Why,  surely  that's  our  Felix,"  I  heard  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham say. 

She  was  quite  right.    It  was  Felix  sure  enough. 

We  end  with  the  variations,  which  are  so  frantically 
difficult  for  both  instruments,  and  are  played  at  such 
incredible  speed  that  the  effect  is  one  of  mere  noise 
and  confusion. 

The  thing  is  a  perfect  scream,  really;  but  though 
there  was  laughter  when  the  cats  appeared  the  audi- 
ence seemed  bored.  Bat  said  it  was  all  my  fault,  but  I 
don't  think  it  was  altogether,  though  I  admit  that  I 
could  put  no  conviction  into  my  part.  I  felt  dreary. 

There  was  a  sentimental  song  sung  by  the  village 
tenor,  and  then  Miss  Farquhar  was  announced  for 
her  piano  solo.  She  was  conducted  on  to  the  platform 


RACHEL  EXPLAINS  TO  ME  277 

by  Bat,  with  her  last  night's  coiffeur  still  intact  and 
dressed  in  a  very  provocative  way;  and  she  had  the 
Rector,  Bat  and  Maud  up  on  the  platform  together  be- 
fore the  seat  of  the  chair  could  be  made  high  enough  to 
please  her.  It  was  Grieg's  Wedding  March,  of  course, 
as  the  Rector  had  announced ;  and  whether  it  was 
that  the  name  "Grieg"  struck  the  audience  as  a  hint  of 
a  facetious  intention,  or  the  sprightly  way  Nibbs 
played  the  piece  made  it  appear  a  travesty  of  a  wed- 
ding march — an  idea  which  would  gain  ground  owing 
to  the  elastic  foundation  on  which  she  sat,  making 
Nibbs  dance  up  and  down  in  her  chair  in  time  with  the 
dance  up  and  down  in  her  chair  in  time  with  the 
music — the  audience  certainly  received  the  perform- 
ance with  ope.i  amusement,  and  delighted  Nibbs  with 
shouts  of  applause ;  so  that  she  immediately  played  it 
all  over  again,  and  looked  immensely  pleased  with  her- 
self. 

Soon  after  this  I  had  to  give  my  song  "Tickle 
Toby."  I  was  dressed  as  Sinbad,  turban  and  all,  with 
my  face  thoroughly  blacked.  I  had  practised  a  nigger 
laugh  to  come  in  at  the  end  of  each  verse — a  gurgle 
beginning  in  my  boots  and  rising  to  a  kind  of  screech ; 
but  it  didn't  go.  I  had  no  heart  for  it.  I  did  it  bitterly. 
I  didn't  want  to  laugh.  After  the  murmur  of  expec- 
tation that  greeted  me  when  I  seated  myself  at  the 
front  of  the  stage  had  subsided,  the  whole  thing  fell 
flat.  Mrs.  Graham  was  immediately  below  me  looking 
at  me  with  a  nervous  proprietory  smile ;  and  Bat  and 
Nibbs  were  laughing  together  next  to  her. 


278  THOMAS 

Just  as  I  was  going  to  begin  I  heard  Bat  say  to 
Nibbs,  evidently  for  my  benefit:  "Hamlet  looks  as 
though  he  were  out  for  murder,  this  time." 

I  saw  Sir  Evelyn  Wyndacotte  look  at  me  seriously 
from  the  second  row,  after  wiping  his  glasses.  I 
couldn't  face  it  out,  and  I  ended  after  three  verses.  As 
I  came  off  into  the  retiring-room,  I  found  Rachel  and 
Captain  Druce  there.  She  was  talking  eagerly  to 
make  herself  heard  above  the  stamping  and  whistling 
with  which  the  back  benches,  balked  of  their  fun, 
clamored  for  a  new  attempt ;  and  he  was  standing  be- 
mused, looking  at  her.  When  Rachel  saw  me  she 
stopped  short,  and  smiled  at  me  so  that  her  eyes  dis- 
appeared altogether. 

"How  splendid,  Mr.  Quinn.  You  have  amused 
them." 

That  was  a  bitter  moment.  Captain  Druce  nodded 
to  me  indulgently.  I  felt  I  should  like  to  black  the 
fellow's  face,  and  throw  him  out  on  the  platform  to 
do  what  he  could  for  himself. 

Bat,  Rachel,  Nibbs  and  I  went  home  in  the  same 
carriage  with  Druce  on  the  box. 

"Jump  in  quick,  Hamlet,  before  the  horse  sees  you," 
said  Bat,  "or  he'll  want  to  lie  down." 

Rachel  engaged  me  in  conversation,  but  I  knew  she 
was  only  doing  it  to  cheer  me  up.  It  was  jolly  nice 
of  her,  all  the  same. 

I  found  an  opportunity,  when  I  said  good-night,  and 
congratulated  her. 

"I  wish  you  the  best  of  good  luck,"  I  said  as  I  took 


HOME  AGAIN  279 

her  hand.     "I'm  afraid   mine's   run  out,"   I   added. 

"It  will  come  in  again  on  the  flood,  I  hope,"  said 
she ;  "and  thank  you  ever  so.  I  know  you  mean  what 
you  say.  And  please  don't  mind  about  it,  for  it  makes 
me  so  unhappy." 

"It  was  all  my  fault,"  I  said.    "I  was  an  ass." 

"No.  You  mustn't  think  that,"  said  Rachel.  "Be- 
sides," she  went  on,  "no  one  will  ever  know." 

"What !    No  one  ?"  I  queried. 

Her  color  deepened.  "Well,  no  one  that  counts," 
she  laughed. 

"And  all  I  ever  asked,"  I  complained,  "was  to  be 
merely  the  one  who  doesn't  count." 

"Good  night,"  she  said. 

"Good  night,"  said  I. 

She  looked  brilliant.  I  felt  perfectly  ready  to  for- 
give her  all  over  again  if  she  offered  me  the  excuse. 

So  that's  all  over;  and  in  a  couple  of  hours  Susan 
and  I  take  the  road  once  more,  with  good-bye  to  Hil- 
don  hospitality,  and  a  cold  welcome  to  the  pickle  tub 
in  Whitehall  to-morrow  morning. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HOME  AGAIN 

MY  tour  is  at  an  end,  and  here  I  am  back  at  home 
once  more. 

The  morning  I  left  Hildon,  Nibbs  came  down  to 
breakfast  with  a  volume  under  her  arm.  It  was  her 
album.  Bat  and  I  were  asked  to  write  in  it.  Bat 
signed  his  name  and  wrote : 

"Hildon  Hall — August  5 — 19 — ."  "And  very  nice, 
too." 

I  scribbled  under  my  name : — 

"I  went  to  market  to  buy  a  fat  pig, 
Home  again,  Home  again,  jiggy -jig-jig. 

Hamlet." 

Nibbs  seemed  to  think  it  pointless  nonsense.  I 
wonder  whether  she  has  shown  it  to  Rachel.  Of 
course  Rachel  isn't  fat,  or  I  could  not  have  written  it ; 
but  she  is  certainly  plump.  She  came  running  to  me 
in  the  hall  as  if  she  were  in  a  hurry ;  said  "Good-bye, 
Mr.  Quinn,"  with  her  eyes  shut  up  tight;  paused  for 
an  instant,  smiling  at  me  as  our  hands  gripped ;  and 
then  turned  and  ran  off  crying  "I'm  coming!"  I 

280 


HOME  AGAIN  281 

know  well  Rachel's  little  devices  for  extricating  her- 
self: all  >ery  neat  and  cunning,  to  be  sure!  She 
started  off  walking  alone  to  church,  instead  of  waiting 
to  drive  with  the  rest,  although  it  was  raining.  The 
rain  accompanied  us  all  the  way  back. 

I  dropped  Bat  at  High  Wycombe  station.  I  got 
rather  tired  of  him  on  the  journey.  He  kept  whistling 
the  first  four  bars  of  Grieg's  Wedding  March,  at  inter- 
vals, all  day  .  I  hope  I  shall  never  again  hear  that  des- 
pairing jig  as  long  as  I  live. 


It  was  a  cloudy,  cold  August  evening,  and  getting 
dark,  when  I  reached  home.  The  geraniums  along 
the  drive  were  all  falling  to  pieces ;  the  garden  looked 
used  up.  The  place  seemed  small  and  strange,  some- 
how. The  sensations  of  coming  home  were  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  adventurous  expectations  with  which 
I  had  driven  up  to  so  many  houses  during  the  past 
weeks. 

It  was  a  relief  to  know  I  should  find  Nita  in  the 
house.  My  mother's  persistent  questionings  would 
be  hard  to  face  out,  but  I  was  determined  not  to  let 
it  appear  that  anything  had  gone  wrong. 

It  was  pleasant  to  meet  Ben  on  the  drive.  He 
comes  on  Sunday  evening  to  feed  the  dogs,  and 
shut  up  the  fowls.  I  told  him  to  go  back  and  carry 
in  my  things,  and  when  I  got  out  of  Susan  I  threw 
out  my  legs  and  arms  and  tried  to  feel  brisk  and 
cheerful. 


282  THOMAS 

My  mother  came  out  into  the  hall  directly  she  heard 
me. 

"How  late  my  son  is,"  she  said  as  she  kissed  me,  in 
a  voice  that  seemed  an  echo  of  long  ago.  "Oh,  how 
well  he  looks !  Come  into  the  light !  You  have  been 
enjoying  yourself,  I  can  see.  Nita !  Doesn't  Thomas 
look  well?  Now  tell  me  all  about  it.  How  are  the 
Grahams  ?" 

Nita  was  standing  with  her  foot  on  the  fender, 
gazing  into  the  fire,  as  I  followed  my  mother  through 
the  open  door  of  the  drawing-room. 

"How  d'y  do,  T. !"  she  said,  smiling,  as  I  went  up 
and  shook  hands  with  her.  "Had  a  good  time  ?" 

"Well,  don't  keep  the  dear  boy  now.  You  can  see 
he  looks  tired.  He'd  like  to  go  upstairs,  I  know. 
Don't  be  long,  Thomas.  Supper  is  ready." 

I  felt  very  dull  indeed  when  I  got  to  the  familiar 
room.  Everything  seemed  to  have  come  to  an  end : 
but  I  did  not  intend  that  my  mother  and  Nita  should 
see  that  I  was  down  on  my  luck.  I  sponged  my  face 
with  scalding  water  to  brighten  myself  up  a  bit. 

I  carried  things  off  well  at  supper  with  an  account 
of  the  Waterburys.  My  mother  had  produced  a  bottle 
of  champagne  in  my  honor,  and  that,  and  Nita's  ready 
laughter,  kept  me  going  all  right. 

In  the  drawing-room  I  told  them  something  of  the 
doings  at  Yend.  My  mother  was  so  very  much 
gratified  at  the  idea  of  my  having  been  a  visitor  at 
the  great  house,  that  she  tried  hard  to  discredit  my 
account  of  the  undipnified  pursuits  with  which  the 


HOME  AGAIN  283 

Duke's  guests  keep  themselves  from  getting  bored; 
and  she  persisted  in  laughing  as  though  I  were  invent- 
ing as  1  went  along. 

"Oh,  how  ridiculous  my  son  is!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Isn't  he  absurd,  Nita?" 

Nita  listened  to  as  much  as  it  was  possible  for 
me  to  tell  them,  with  amusement,  but  she  laughed  out 
when  I  described  how  the  Duke  surprised  my  exhi- 
bition of  the  gun-shot  wound,  and  my  exploit  at  tke 
bridge  table.  I  could  not  resist  rather  overstating 
the  catastrophe  of  these  events  for  the  pleasure  of 
watching  my  mother.  Her  face  expressed  horror. 
She  threw  up  her  eyes  as  though  I  had  utterly  dis- 
graced the  family. 

"But  ^vhy  did  you  take  the  queens  out  of  the  pack, 
my  dear  son?  You  knew  it  was  not  the  correct  thing 
to  do." 

Nita  was  delighted.  She  gurgled  with  merriment 
whenever  she  looked  at  my  mother's  scared  face. 

I  cleared  matters  up  by  letting  it  seem  that  the 
whole  story  was  more  or  less  a  joke,  and  my  mother 
caught  at  the  straw  eagerly.  She  came  over  and 
kissed  me. 

"Of  course,  I  knew  my  dear  son  would  never  be- 
have like  that  when  he  was  staying  with  a  duke.  But 
I  like  his  jokes.  It's  always  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see 
him  so  happy.  Nita,"  she  added,  "it's  time  for  bed. 
Are  you  ready?" 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Nita,  dismissing  her  laughter  as 
the  rose  from  her  chair. 


284  THOMAS 

My  mother  went  out,  leaving  the  door  open  for 
Nita.  We  stood  side  by  side  gazing  into  the  grate 
without  speaking  for  nearly  half  a  minute.  Then 
Nita  said  softly,  without  looking  at  me : 

"What's  wrong,  T.?" 

I  was  completely  taken  by  surprise.  I  stared  at 
her  as  she  stood  watching  the  surging  glow  of  the 
dying  fire. 

"Wrong?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  T.  What's  happened?"  She  turned  and 
looked  at  me  serenely.  It  didn't  occur  to  me  that  it 
was  no  business  of  hers.  It  seemed  quite  natural  she 
should  ask  the  question.  What  puzzled  me  was  how 
she  should  have  guessed  anything.  I  stared. 

"Well,  I  said,  "I've  had  a  bit  of  an  upset;  but  I 
can't  imagine  how  you  found  it  out." 

She  said  nothing,  but  I  knew,  as  I  kicked  down 
a  bit  of  coal  with  my  shoe,  that  she  was  looking  at 
me. 

"Here  you  are;  you  can  read  it,"  I  said,  after  a 
strained  pause;  and  I  took  the  envelope  containing 
Prince  Rupert's  letter  out  of  my  pocket  and  handed  it 
to  her. 

She  glanced  back  over  her  shoulder  with  one  of  her 
graceful  motions  to  locate  her  chair,  and  slowly  seated 
herself  as  she  drew  out  the  paper  and  unfolded  it.  I 
watched  her  as  she  read. 

In  a  few  moments  the  hand  holding  the  letter  fell 
to  her  lap,  and  she  looked  at  me. 

"Oh,  Thomas !" 


HOME  AGAIN  285 

An  air  of  reproval  in  her  voice  nettled  me. 

"It  was  only  a  lark,"  I  said,  when  I  had  explained 
the  circumstances.  "I  didn't  mean  any  harm." 

Nita  said  nothing  to  this,  and  I  stared  into  the  fire. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said,  taking  up  the  letter  and 
reading  again. 

She  was  making  too  much  of  it  all.  She  was  even 
being  a  little  stupid  about  it,  I  thought. 

"Oh  well,  I  don't  care,"  I  went  on.  "The  office  is 
an  old  goat,  anyway.  They  may  sack  me  if  they  want 
to,  and  I  can  go  to  the  Colonies.  That's  the  place  for 
men.  This  stilted,  stuffy  old  country  is  only  fit  for 
curates,  and  grocers,  and  old  maids." 

"But  that's  not  like  you,  Thomas — to  be  down- 
hearted." 

"Downhearted! — I'm  not  downhearted." 

"But  you  are,  or  you  wouldn't  say  such  things. 
It's  not  manly.  If  you  don't  like  the  service  you 
ought  not  to  remain  in  it.  You  have  only  got  one 
life  to  live.  You  mustn't  waste  it.  The  whole  world's 
before  you.  You  have  education  and  capacity;  you 
can  afford  to  choose  the  work  you  want  to  do,  but  it's 
unworthy  for  anyone  to  shuffle  along  the  easiest  road. 
No  one  can  be  happy  who  has  a  contempt  for  his 
work." 

"They're  such  a  dull  lot  of  men.  There's  no  life  in 
the  place.  There's  not  one  of  them  that  can  join  in 
any  fun." 

"But  it  isn't  the  place  for  fun.  You  should  keep 
your  fun  for  outside."  She  smiled. 


286  THOMAS 

"Well,  I  shall  clear  out  of  the  place,"  I  said,  "and 
go  away." 

"But  you  can't  do  that  until  you  have  shown  Mr. 
Heronshaw,  and  all  of  them,  that  you  are  not  what 
they  suppose.  You  can't  go  off  with  your  tail  between 
your  legs." 

I  felt  this  to  be  true. 

"I  am  waiting,  Nita,"  my  mother's  voice  called  from 
the  distance. 

"Coming,"  cried  Nita,  with  a  momentary  shadow 
of  vexation  on  her  forehead. 

"He's  such  a  little  bounder,"  I  complained. 

"Well,  but  is  he?  He's  got  to  see  that  the  rules 
are  kept!  It  is  what  he  is  there  for!  You  must 
realize  that,  Thomas.  Suppose  everyone  played  about, 
and  stayed  away!  You  may  feel  quite  sure  it  was 
no  pleasure  to  him  to  haul  you  over  the  coals.  He 
had  to  do  his  duty,  that  was  all." 

"Yes,  I  understand  that" — I  was  replying,  when 
my  mother  came  into  the  room  with  a  lighted  candle 
and  interrupted  me. 

"I'm  waiting,  Nita." 

"Your  Aunt  Emmy  wants  to  tuck  you  up,"  I  said. 

"My  dear  son,  you  know  I  am  always  afraid  of  the 
house  catching  fire.  I  know  I  can  trust  you  to  put 
out  the  lights,"  she  added,  as  she  kissed  me  again. 

Nita  got  up,  handed  me  the  letter  with  a  nod,  and 
preceded  my  mother  out  of  the  room. 

The  latter,  however,  returned  to  me,  after  going 
half-way  to  the  door. 


HOME  AGAIN  287 

"Anything  I  should  like  to  see?"  she  asked,  with  her 
eyebrows  raised. 

"No — only  something  official,"  I  told  her.  It  would 
have  served  no  purpose  to  show  her  the  letter.  Nita 
was  different. 

She  smiled  and  left  me. 

"Don't  be  long,"  she  said,  turning  as  she  reached 
the  door. 

"You  never  told  me  about  your  visit  to  the  Gra- 
hams," said  my  mother,  when  I  came  down  to  break- 
fast next  morning. 

"I  told  you  all  there  was  to  tell,"  I  said. 

"And  how  are  the  girls?" 

"Quite  well." 

"And  you  saw  Valerie,  of  course?" 

"Of  course — she  was  at  home.    I  told  you  so." 

"Yes,  dear.  Such  a  nice  girl,  Valerie.  Well,  I 
always  say  there's  a  girl  if  you  like — I  was  always 
so  fond  of  Valerie,  and  such  pretty  manners ;  and 
so  stylish.  She's  not  engaged  yet,  I  suppose?" 

"Not  that  I've  heard  of." 

"Oh,  you  would  have  heard  if  she  had  been.  You 
may  be  quite  sure  of  that,  my  dear  son.  Did  Mrs. 
Graham  say  anything  about  your  going  there  again?" 

"No." 

"Oh  well,  of  course,  that  was  her  nice  feeling;  as 
you  had  gone  there  without  an  invitation  at  first,  I 
mean.  So  like  her.  Dear  Mrs.  Graham.  She  would 
naturally  expect  you  to  propose  yourself  again,  of 
course." 


288  THOMAS 

Here  Nita  entered  and  the  subject  dropped. 

I  found  that  everybody  at  the  office  knew  I  had 
been  docked.  I  was  aware  of  it  directly  I  got  into 
the  place.  No  one  chaffed  me  or  asked  why  I  had 
stayed  away  so  long;  and  even  Gregory,  the  man 
who  shares  my  room,  did  not  ask  how  I  had  spent 
my  holiday,  and,  indeed,  seemed  pointedly  to  keep 
off  the  subject.  It  made  me  feel  uncomfortable. 

In  the  middle  of  the  morning  I  went  up  to  Bad- 
derley's  room.  Badderley  is  the  Assistant  Secretary. 

When  I  came  in  he  gave  me  a  short  nod,  and  sat 
back,  and  waited  for  me  to  speak. 

"The  Chief's  docked  me  twelve  months,  hasn't  he  ?" 
I  said. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  drily. 

"Does  he  often  do  it?" 

"There  was  a  case  four  or  five  years  ago:  six 
months."  He  looked  at  me. 

"Ought  I  to  go  and  see  him?"  I  asked,  after  a 
pause. 

Badderley  shrugged.  "Please  yourself,"  he  said. 
"Question  is:  Will  he  see  you?" 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned 
to  his  writing  again. 

I  walked  up  and  down  the  corridor  for  some  min- 
utes uncertain  what  to  do.  A  messenger  who  came 
by  stared  at  me,  and  then  suddenly  withdrew  his  eyes. 
Everyone  knew  about  it,  then.  I  felt  sick  of  myself. 
Well,  if  Prince  Rupert  would  not  see  me,  he  wouldn't ; 
but  I  felt  I  wanted  to  tell  him  I  was  sorry,  and  I 


HOME  AGAIN  289 

determined  it  shouldn't  be  my  fault  if  I  did  not. 

His  clerk  went  into  his  room ;  came  back ;  shut  his 
door;  nodded  me  to  a  chair,  and  went  on  with  his 
work.  Time  passed,  and  I  thought  I  had  been  for- 
gotten. Then  a  messenger  entered  with  a  basket  of 
papers.  The  clerk  took  the  basket  in  to  Prince  Rupert 
and  returned  with  two  others,  which  he  gave  to  the 
messenger.  As  he  seated  himself  again  he  pointed  to 
the  inner  door. 

I  pushed  it  open  and  walked  in. 

Prince  Rupert's  nose  was  buried  in  his  papers. 
I  closed  the  door,  and  waited.  After  a  few  minutes 
he  tossed  a  docket  into  a  basket  and  seemed,  in  the 
act,  to  catch  sight  of  me.  He  put  up  his  eyeglass 
and  looked  at  me  sideways,  with  his  face  screwed  up, 
as  is  his  way  when  interrupted. 

"Well?" 

"I  want  to  apologize  for  the  way  I've  treated  the 
office,  sir!" 

"Yes.  Right !" 

He  dropped  his  eyeglass,  and  his  face  went  down 
into  his  papers  again. 

The  interview  was  over,  and  I  came  out.* 

Pretty  manners  are  certainly  not  a  strong  point  of 
His  Majesty's  Office  of  Statistics. 


When  I  told  Nita  about  it,  however,  she  did  not 
seem  surprised. 

"It  was  all  right  your  going  in  and  saying  what 


290  THOMAS 

you  did,  T.,"  she  said.  "And  as  he  consented  to  see 
you,  and  must  have  known  what  it  was  about,  it 
shows  that  he  wishes  to  be  just  .  I  don't  see  that  he 
could  say  much  more  until  you  have  given  him  grounds 
for  changing  his  opinion  of  you — in  fact  it  was  a  case 
of  the  less  said  the  better." 

I  see  what  Nita  means.  She  has  quite  a  little  head 
on  her  shoulders,  and  rather  astonishes  me  sometimes. 
She  was  so  nice  about  it  all  too,  and  has  cheered  me 
up  no  end.  I'll  show  them  that  I  am  as  good  a  man 
as  any  of  them. 

I  remembered  to-day  that  I  had  never  written  to  say 
good-bye  to  Cousin  Jane,  or  to  thank  her,  so  I  sent 
her  a  wire:  "Home  again  much  enjoyed  visit  many 
thanks." 

And  so  my  tour  is  ended.  It  would  have  been  a 
complete  success  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  upset  at 
the  office,  and  this  business  with  Rachel.  That  was 
my  fault,  of  course.  I  was  an  ass.  I  can  see  that 
clearly,  and  though  I  have  only  been  home  four  days 
the  whole  thing  seems  to  have  happened  weeks  ago. 
If  I  had  married  Rachel  I  don't  know  what  I  should 
have  done*  with  her.  We  couldn't  play  golf  all  day: 
I  never  thought  of  that.  She  is  such  a  child  in  many 
ways.  Well,  it's  over  and  I  want  to  forget  all  about 
Hildori;  but  my  mother  keeps  harping  on  my  visit 
there,  and  putting  out  feelers  with  the  quite  obvious 
design  of  leading  me  to  tell  her  exactly  what  my  senti- 
ments are  towards  Valerie.  Why  she  can't  ask  me 
outright  and  have  done  with  it  I  don't  know.  She 


HOME  AGAIN  291 

seems  to  find  ground  for  her  fondest  hopes  in  the 
fact  that  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  say  on  the  sub- 
ject. She  evidently  feels  that  I  am  hiding  a  secret. 
I  am  bored  with  Hildon,  and  it  makes  me  dreary — but 
quite  an  odd  thing  has  happened.  It  is  only  some- 
thing within  myself,  yet  it  helps  me  to  forget  all 
about  Rachel. 

It  is  nothing  much  to  tell  of.  It  began  on  my 
second  day  at  the  office:  the  day  after  my  interview 
with  Prince  Rupert,  and  my  talk  with  Nita.  I  got  to 
Whitehall  meaning  to  do  my  damnedest,  but  feeling 
resentful,  too,  at  the  same  time.  I  had  never  sat  down 
to  work  in  that  mood  before.  It  has  always  been  a 
case  of  taking  what  was  fired  at  me,  and  sloping 
about  the  office  asking  questions,  and  shoving  the  job 
on  to  someone  else  if  it  didn't  clear  itself  up. 

On  this  Tuesday  a  mass  of  confused  returns  and 
memoranda,  dealing  with  Infant  Mortality  at  Brad- 
ford, was  slung  at  me.  It  was  a  disgusting  prospect ; 
and  it  stuck  in  my  gizzard  once  or  twice  with  Gregory 
tilting  in  his  chair,  and  tapping  with  a  paper-cutter, 
and  distracting  me.  I  had  never  much  noticed  this 
habit  of  his  before.  The  remarkable  thing  that  hap- 
pened was  that  I  suddenly  seemed  to  get  hold  of  a 
Ihread  and  become  interested  in  the  job.  This  was  not 
till  the  afternoon,  but  I  became  so  absorbed  that  I  was 
quite  surprised  when  Gregory  came  into  the  room 
with  his  towel  and  warned  me  that  it  was  ten  minutes 
to  five.  He  worried  me  by  looking  out  of  the  window 
with  his  hat  on  waiting  for  the  clock  to  strike.  "It's 


292  THOMAS 

gone  five,"  he  said,  as  he  went  out  of  the  room.  He 
spoke  as  though  I  had  involved  myself  in  some  catas- 
trophe. 

It  was  nearly  six  before  I  left,  but  by  that  time  I  had 
got  the  whole  of  the  facts  grouped  in  my  mind,  and 
the  paragraphing  of  the  report  set  out.  I  had  also 
found  that  the  man  who  drew  the  memorandum  on 
one  section  had  overlooked  a  leading  point.  I  felt 
quite  light-hearted  and  cheerful  when  I  got  home.  It 
was  as  if  the  cloud  of  drudgery  at  the  office,  which  I 
have  always  tried  to  forget,  had  dissipated.  It  is 
extraordinary  how  interesting  quite  dull  work  becomes 
when  one  really  sticks  one's  head  into  it. 

I  mentioned  the  matter  to  Nita.  It  was  all  her 
doing,  and  I  really  felt  grateful  to  her.  She  seemed 
partly  pleased  and  partly  amused.  She  always  seems 
half  amused  at  me  when  I  am  serious:  she's  a  queer 
girl. 

"Well,  don't  forget  you've  got  to  keep  it  up,  T." 

"What's  he  got  to  keep  up  ?"  asked  my  mother. 

"Hard  work,"  said  Nita. 

"Oh,  don't  tell  him  that,"  my  mother  exclaimed, 
looking  horrified.  "I  don't  want  my  son  to  overwork 
himself.  Please  don't  say  such  things." 

But  Nita  is  right,  all  the  same. 

I  had  intended  to  end  here,  but  there  is  still  some- 
thing more  to  tell.  I  don't  understand  it.  It's  just 
life,  I  suppose ;  and  yet  I'm  sure  I  don't  deserve  all 
the  knocks  I  get.  It's  about  Nita.  She  utterly  beats 


HOME  AGAIN  293 

me.  However,  she's  leaving  on  Monday,  and  I  shan't 
be  sorry.  Everything  is  so  dreary  that  if  it  wasn't  for 
the  office  I  really  don't  know  what  I  should  do  with 
myself. 

It  all  came  about,  more  or  less,  through  things  at 
the  office,  as  it  happens.  A  fortnight  has  passed  since 
I  last  wrote  and  I  had  quite  got  my  tail  up  again.  I 
had  a  screen  put  into  the  room,  so  as  to  shut  off  Greg- 
ory and  his  everlasting  shifting  in  and  out,  and  tilting 
in  his  chair.  He  fell  right  over  backwards  once  and 
frightened  himself,  and  it  is  the  exciting  chance  of 
its  happening  again  that  no  doubt  keeps  him  at  this 
sport  of  rocking  over  to  the  very  point  of  overbalanc- 
ing, all  day.  He's  a  good  chap,  all  the  same. 

Last  Saturday,  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  a  messenger 
came  and  told  me  that  the  Prince  wanted  me.  Gregory 
scratched  his  head,  and  looked  at  me  whimsically  as 
I  went  out,  for  it  is  quite  unusual  for  the  chief  to  inter- 
view any  but  the  top  dogs,  and  I  felt  funky.  However, 
it  was  quite  a  score  for  me  as  it  happened.  Badderley 
was  in  the  room,  and  nodded  to  me  as  I  entered. 
Prince  Rupert  was  sitting  at  his  table. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said.  "You  drew  this  report 
on  Bradford  Infant  Mortality,  I  think?  Yes.  Well  I 
like  the  arrangement.  The  Secretary  of  State  wants 
the  figures  for  the  Chief  Industrial  centres.  Here's 
the  list — twenty-seven  of  them ;  and  here  are  the  other 
district  reports.  I  want  you  to  throw  the  whole  into 
one  report  in  the  form  in  which  your  own  is  drawn. 
Wanted  in  the  House  on  Friday  afternoon.  Take  the 


294  THOMAS 

docket.  Mr.  Badderley  will  deal  with  the  draft,  so 
please  put  it  into  his  hands  yourself  on  Wednesday, 
latest.  Important." 

Badderley  nodded  to  me  as  I  took  the  papers  and 
cleared  out.  I  felt  I  was  quite  one  of  the  swells, 
though  of  course  I  knew  that  Prince  Rupert  only  sent 
for  me  just  to  show  there  was  no  bad  blood.  It  was 
jolly  nice  of  him,  I  think.  I  feel  I'd  do  any  damned 
thing  for  the  little  man  now. 

I  naturally  told  Nita  of  all  this,  and  she  seemed 
pleased,  but  made  light  of  it  too,  and  laughed,  so 
that  it  was  difficult  for  me  to  thank  her  as  I  wished ; 
but  it  was  the  next  day,  when  I  was  crossing  the  park 
from  the  office,  that  I  felt  it  all  so  keenly.  It  seemed 
to  come  over  me,  as  though  I  had  emerged  into  a 
larger  world ;  it  was  as  if  I  had  found  myself  all  of  a 
sudden.  Things  seemed  to  glow.  I  felt  intensely 
grateful  to  Nita.  I  should  have  made  an  ass  of  my- 
self, one  way  or  another,  I  knew,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  her.  She  understood  things  so  wonderfully.  She 
was  not  a  bit  like  other  women,  or  like  my  mother, 
who  never  understands  anything.  I  felt,  too,  what  a 
gay  pretty  creature  she  was,  and  how  comforting  to 
a  chap  who's  down  on  his  luck. 

And  then,  as  I  was  going  up  Regent  Street,  I 
walked  into  old  Bat  Vernon.  I  noticed  that  he  met 
my  rather  boisterous  greeting  a  bit  stiffiV,  which  was 
explained  the  next  moment  by  his  introducing  me  to 
the  lady  who  accompanied  him,  and  whom  I  had  not 
observed  in  the  throng. 


HOME  AGAIN  295 

"Permit  me — Edward's  murderer,"  was  the  way  he 
put  it. 

A  tall  erect  young  lady,  with  rather  a  washed-out 
look,  and  thin  aquiline  features,  strikingly  dressed 
in  an  inconspicuous  way,  nodded  and  smiled  to  me 
gaily,  and  gave  me  a  further  surprise  by  saying: 

"I've  heard  a  lot  about  you,  Mr.  Quinn.  I  ought 
to  ask  after  Susan,  I  suppose  ?  I  hope  she  is  in  good 
form." 

Bat  evidently  noticed  I  was  perplexed,  for  he  began 
elaborately : 

"I've  an  explanation  to  make,  T. — Don't  you  listen," 
he  said  aside  to  his  companion ;  "this  is  strictly  private 
as  between  man  and  man — Mrs.  Vassaleur,"  he  ad- 
dressed me,  glancing  towards  her,  "is  going  to  get 
something  altered  that  won't  fit  any  more.  It's  too 
long ;  and  I  am  lending  a  hand,  just  as  a  friend,  to  get 
it  made  shorter — that's  right,  isn't  it  ?"  he  asked,  turn- 
ing to  her  again. 

"How  can  you  be  so  foolish !"  said  she.  "I'm  going 
in  here,  I  shall  only  be  two  minutes,"  and  she  went 
into  a  shop. 

"What  are  you  driving  at  ?"  I  asked  Bat. 

"Well,  it's  like  this,"  he  explained.  "It's  her  name. 
It's  too  long,  and  I'm  going  to  get  it  changed.  It's  a 
job  they  do  with  a  sexton  and  a  baby,  in  a  church." 

"Then  it's  all  come  right !"  I  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Bat,  grinning,  "so  far;  but  you  never 
can  be  sure,  in  these  matters.  It's  been  a  tough  job, 
I  can  tell  you." 


296  THOMAS 

"Did  you  say — I  didn't  quite  catch — Miss  Vassa- 
leur?"  I  asked. 

"Mrs.,"  said  Bat. 

"Oh!"  I  exclaimed.  "Then  you're  marrying  a 
widow !" 

"And  so  will  you,  my  boy,"  Bat  laughed,  coloring 
a  little.  Then  he  went  on  rather  hastily:  "Why,  of 
course  I  am.  Everyone  would  if  he  could.  The  very 
nicest  things  are,  without  doubt,  other  men's  wives — 
you  must  have  noticed  that;  it's  because  we  can't  get 
them:  but  the  next  best  things  are  thoroughly  refrac- 
tory widows.  Refractory  widows  are  very  Oi'^cult 
to  come  by  though,  and  that's  why  most  of  us  make  do 
with  girls.  But  I  tell  you  what  it  is;  the  widows  let 
you  sweat  for  it — they  do.  I  lost  nearly  half  a  stone 
on  this  job.  It's  a  solemn  fact." 

When  Mrs.  Vassaleur  joined  us,  I  had  just  time, 
before  I  hurried  on  to  the  station,  to  offer  my  con- 
gratulations and  to  take  it  out  of  Bat,  who  was  al- 
together too  pleased  with  himself. 

As  I  sat  in  the  train,  I  recalled  the  scene  of  my 
meeting  with  Bat  and  his  refractory  widow.  He 
certainly  seemed  very  cheerful,  and  she  was  with- 
out doubt  an  attractive  woman,  but  she  was  not  the 
sort  I  should  have  imagined  Bat  to  take  up  with. 
She  would  keep  him  in  order  too  well,  I  thought; 
and  then  I  recalled  the  odd  way  he  had  predicted 
that  I  would  marry  a  widow,  and  I  ran  over  in  my 
mind  the  widows  of  my  acquaintance.  It  was  not 
at  once  that  I  remembered  Nita,  and  it  came  like  a 


HOME  AGAIN  297 

punch  in  the  ribs.  Did  Bat  suppose  that  I .  He 

had  certainly  seen  us  together  at  Bourncombe ;  in  fact, 
that  was  the  only  occasion  he  had  met  Nita.  I  got  hot 
to  the  roots  of  my  hair ;  I  felt  ashamed.  I  don't  now 
understand  why  it  took  me  like  that;  I  am  trying  to 
set  down  just  what  happened,  but  I  cannot  explain 
things  because  I  do  not  understand  them.  My  impres- 
sion is  that  it  was  shame.  I  felt  ashamed  of  myself, 
and  I  don't  think  that  Bat's  presumption  of  an  under- 
standing between  Nita  and  me  had  anything  to  do 
with  it.  I  cannot  account  for  the  sensations  I  ex- 
perienced. It  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  I 
seemed  to  begin  to  understand. 

The  idea  was  rather  startling.  I  had  always  re- 
garded Nita  as  a  relative  and  one  of  the  family,  but  it 
seemed  to  me,  when  I  thought  about  it,  that  Nita  was 
more  to  me  than  anyone  in  the  world.  There  were 
all  sorts  of  things  about  her  that  I  seemed  to  have 
overlooked :  her  playfulness ;  and  cleverness ;  and  grace 
and  elegance ;  and  pretty  ways.  I  had  been  aware  of 
these  enchantments  certainly,  and,  in  a  way,  proud  of 
them;  but  always  as  a  man  might  notice  and  admire 
the  attractions  of  his  sister.  The  whole  thing  seemed 
to  re-arrange  itself  as  I  sat  there.  It  was  astonishing 
and  I  was  in  a  bemused  state  when  the  guard,  by  open- 
ing the  door,  reminded  me  I  was  at  my  destination. 

As  I  walked,  I  was  filled  with  expectations  of 
seeing  Nita.  I  wanted  to  realize  her.  The  idea  of  my 
possibly  not  finding  her  at  home,  took  me  aback.  It 
reminded  me  that  she  was  engaged  for  a  long  round 


298  THOMAS 

of  visits  in  a  few  weeks'  time,  and  that  I  had  been 
looking  forward  to  the  day  as  a  dark  one.  I  began 
to  believe  I  was  devoted  to  her.  She  was,  as  Myra 
had  said,  "such  a  dear."  I  hurried  to  find  her  when 
I  got  home.  I  felt  excited.  I  expected  all  sorts  of 
things. 

And  when  I  came  on  her — there  she  was,  just  the 
same;  serene,  composed,  matter-of-fact — all  as  large 
as  life.  It  was  a  relief,  somehow,  to  find  her  the 
actuality  I  knew  so  well.  And  then  something  hap- 
pened. 

She  was  walking  in  the  garden  with  my  mother. 
Some  wayward  branch  in  the  shrubberies  must  have 
caught  her  hair,  for  a  lock  had  escaped  behind  her  ear. 
I  pulled  it,  and  she  laughed,  and  bent  her  neck,  and 
raised  her  arms  and  deftly  tucked  it  away,  and  turned 
to  me  with  a  smile. 

I  do  not  understand  why  it  was,  but  something 
in  the  grace  of  her  abandonment,  and  the  way  she 
turned  to  me  with  her  intimate  questioning  smile, 
seized  my  attention.  It  was  all  just  Nita  and  per- 
fectly familiar  to  me,  but  at  that  moment  a  sudden 
revelation  of  her  flashed  through  me.  I  stared.  I  was 
reminded  that  I  was  staring  by  the  change  in  her 
eyes :  they  seemed  to  retreat  from  mine,  and  I  caught 
for  an  instant  a  look  of  almost  hostility ;  the  next  mo- 
ment they  softened  again,  and  were  perplexed,  as  she 
turned  from  me.  A  minute  later  she  glanced  keenly 
at  me.  I  felt  ill  at  ease,  and  we  walked  in  silence.  My 
heart  was  beating. 


HOME  AGAIN  299 

I  sat  and  thought  over  it  in  my  dressing-room  and 
was  late  for  dinner  in  consequence.  She  was  wonder- 
ful ;  there  were  things  about  her  that  had  been  hidden 
from  me;  there  was  a  mystery  about  her.  I  went 
downstairs  filled  with  the  one  enthralling  idea,  "Nita." 
I  watched  her  at  dinner.  I  wanted  to  find  her  out. 
She  was  just  the  same  as  usual :  a  little  quieter,  per- 
haps. I  puzzled  over  her.  I  had  no  wish  to  chaff  her. 
She  seemed  too  wonderful  to  laugh  at.  She  was  too 
pretty.  I  felt  I  wanted  to  get  to  close  quarters  with 
her,  and  hear  her  talk  seriously  as  she  sometimes  does ; 
but  there  is  a  subtle  reserve  about  her,  and  I  was  con- 
strained, in  a  way  I  had  never  experienced  before  and 
I  could  not  force  the  pace.  It  was  too  dark  to  go  out, 
and  so  it  happened  that  we  relapsed  into  desultory 
after-dinner  occupations.  Nita  seemed  listless.  I 
tried  to  read,  but  I  could  not  sit  in  the  room  apart 
from  her  as  though  we  were  nothing  to  one  another, 
for  we  are  the  best  of  pals.  I  felt  need  of  her.  I 
wanted  to  understand  her. 

"Have  a  game  of  chicken  halma?"  I  said  at  last. 

It's  a  stupid  game.  Nita  seemed  surprised,  but  she 
consented.  I  only  wanted  to  feel  I  was  her  compan- 
ion ;  and  as  she  sat  opposite  I  could  gaze  unheeded  on 
her  composed  unconscious  face,  the  lashes  on  the 
cheeks,  and  the  pretty  chin  resting  snugly  upon  her 
slim  fingers,  and  the  gentle  lifting  of  her  bosom  ;  and  I 
somehow  began  to  understand  her.  She  seemed  to 
pervade  me.  There  was  a  moment  when  she  glanced 
at  me  mischievously,  after  extending  her  arm  for  some 


300  THOMAS 

moments,  doubtful  of  her  next  move,  when  I  felt 
stirred  as  I  had  been  that  evening  in  the  garden. 

Then,  when  we  were  putting  the  pieces  away,  one 
rolled  to  the  carpet.  Nita  reached  for  it  sideways  over 
the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  it  upset,  so  that  she  could 
only  hold  herself  from  falling  right  over,  by  supporting 
herself  with  one  hand  on  the  floor.  I  know  that  chair ! 

"Take  care,  Nita,"  said  my  mother,  unnecessarily. 

"I  am !  Aunt  Emmy,"  laughed  Nita,  hanging  on  for 
rescue  from  her  predicament. 

I  reached  to  her;  put  my  arm  about  her;  and 
brought  her  up  like  a  feather ;  but  I  declare  I  thrilled 
and  tingled  all  over  at  the  touch  of  her.  I  had  often, 
by  one  chance  and  another,  touched  her;  but  I  had 
never  before  been  arrested  in  that  way.  Was  Nita 
like  that !  What  did  it  mean  ?  And  Nita  colored.  She 
was  laughing  certainly,  but  this  was  a  quick  flush  that 
sped  at  once.  She  did  not  look  at  me :  I  was  watching 
her.  I  was  filled  with  a  feeling  of  triumph.  I  exulted. 
I  can't  explain  it ;  I  can  only  state  that  I  was  filled  with 
wild  exultation  in  the  consciousness  that  I  was  a  man 
and  she  was  a  woman.  It  seemed  I  had  lost  sight  of 
the  fact  that  she  was  a  woman;  and  at  that  moment 
it  was  as  though  she  came  to  life  in  me. 

The  end  was  two  days  later,  when  I  was  sitting  in 
the  garden  on  Sunday  afternoon. 

Nita  had  been  just  her  old  self,  and  yet  in  those 
two  days  I  had  come  to  see  her  with  a  different  eye. 

I  realized  that  I  was  devoted  to  her,  and  that  I  could 
not  face  losing  her ;  and  yet  the  idea  of  our  marrying 


HOME  AGAIN  301 

seemed  odd.  There  was  no  bar,  of  course,  I  had  made 
sure  of  that;  but  I  felt  shy  directly  my  mind  ap- 
proached  the  idea  of  asking  her  to  marry  me.  It 
seemed  such  an  extraordinary  confession  to  have  to 
make  after  the  off-hand  way  I  had  always  treated  her. 

As  I  say,  I  was  sitting  in  the  garden.  I  had  walked 
fiome  from  church  with  Nita  in  the  morning  and  that 
old  beau  Gainsford  had  joined  us,  and  bowed  and 
scraped  to  her,  and  showed  himself  off  in  the  sun  like 
a  pigeon.  I  was  thinking  what  a  good  pal  she  had 
been  to  me :  and  just  then  I  saw  her  at  the  drawing- 
room  window. 

It  was  a  French  window,  and  she  stood  framed,  as 
in  a  picture,  from  head  to  heel.  Nita.  She  looked 
so  sweet — such  a  slip  of  a  girl  in  her  white  dress, 
standing  erect  against  the  dark  shadows.  I  was  too 
far  away  to  see  her  face  clearly,  but  I  knew  well 
what  her  look  was  at  that  moment :  pensive,  absorbed, 
and  a  little  sad,  but  ready  to  spring  to  life  at  a  word — 
at  a  touch.  I  felt  I  should  like  to  surprise  her  into 
life  again  with  a  kiss.  Then  she  waved  her  hand  to 
me,  and  turned  and  disappeared  into  the  darkness. 

There  was  something  languorous  in  her  pose  as  she 
moved,  that  gave  me  a  pang.  Her  standing  there 
alone,  remote  from  me;  and  turning  with  an  air  of 
weariness ;  gave  me  a  keen  sense  of  her  loneliness  and 
of  our  being  aloof,  and  brought  to  my  mind  the  mys- 
tery and  charm  of  her  which  had  haunted  me  during 
the  past  days.  And  what  a  graceful,  pretty  creature 
she  was!  I  had  thought,  from  her  signal,  that  she 


302  THOMAS 

intended  to  join  me,  and  when  I  did  not  see  her  I  was 
filled  with  misgivng.  Suppose  she  were  to  go  out  of 
my  life  altogether,  as  she  had  vanished  from  my  sight 
at  the  window,  and  leave  only  black  emptiness!  It 
was  impossible  that  we  could  always  remain  as  friends 
and  play-fellows.  I  felt  that  I  wanted  her  and  noth- 
ing else  in  the  world;  that  I  meant  to  have  her;  and 
that  it  was  nothing  but  the  habit  of  our  established  re- 
lationship which  held  me  from  taking  the  prize.  She 
could  help  me  so  much.  I  made  up  my  mind.  I  got 
up  and  went  to  her  exulting.  I  did  not  know  how  I 
was  going  to  tackle  the  business.  I  was  greatly  ex- 
cited. I  meant  to  break  the  ice  and  get  to  terms  at 
once. 

I  found  her  in  the  drawing-room.  She  was  stand- 
ing with  the  fingers  of  one  hand  resting  against  her 
neck,  looking  out  of  the  window  again.  We  were 
alone.  My  mother,  I  knew,  was  "resting." 

"Nita,"  I  said,  approaching  her.  "I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

She  turned  her  head  slowly,  her  fingers  still  at  her 
neck  and  her  lips  parted,  with  the  absorbed  look  with 
which  she  had  been  gazing  upon  the  garden  still  on 
her  face. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,"  I  said. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  with  a  faint  look  of  inter- 
est. 

"Will  you  marry  me?" 

Her  lips  closed ;  her  eyes  awoke  in  a  deep  look  which 
searched  mine.  The  color  rose  in  her  cheeks  for  a 


HOME  AGAIN  303 

moment.  She  did  not  speak  at  once.  Her  cheek 
paled  again. 

"Why?"  she  asked  quietly,  throwing  up  her  chin  a 
little. 

"Because  I  want  you.  I'm  sick  of  myself.  I  want 
your  help.  You  can  help  me  so  much ;  I  can't  imagine 
why  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  You're  just  the 
only  woman  for  me,  Nita;  I  know  it  now.  We  get 
on  so  well,  and  I  admire  you  tremendously — you  know 
that ;  besides,  it's  time  I  thought  about  getting  married, 
and  I  know  you  feel  lonely  sometimes." 

Nita  laughed  and  shook  her  head,  and  looked  out 
into  the  garden  again. 

"I'm  not  so  hard  up  as  all  that,"  she  said. 

"No,  look  here,  Nita,"  I  protested.  "Don't  laugh. 
I'm  in  earnest.  We  know  each  other  so  well,  and 
we've  had  such  good  times  together — and  I  want  to 
marry  you.  I  shall  be  twice  the  man  with  you  by  my 
side — I  know  that ;  and  you're  so  clever — I've  felt  it 
tremendously  of  late.  I  want  you.  I  can't  bear  the 
idea  of  your  going  away  again,  the  house  is  awful 
without  you — so  come,  dear  old  Nita — say  you  will." 

I  moved  close  to  her,  but  she  turned  and  faced  me 
and  at  the  same  moment  pulled  the  curtain  partly 
across  her  body  with  a  slight  movement  of  her  hand. 

"When  did  you  make  up  your  mind  to  tell  me  this  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Just  now,  in  the  garden.  I've  looked  up  the  Table. 
It's  all  right.  There's  no  bar."  I  caught  my  breath 
and  gulped :  I  felt  it  all  so  much. 


304  THOMAS 

Nita  regarded  me  with  an  odd  expression  of  mingled 
perplexity,  reproval,  and  merriment.  Then  she  burst 
out  laughing:  stooping  forward,  as  is  her  way  some- 
times, and  forcing  it  from  her  in  a  long  peal  which, 
however,  stopped  abruptly. 

I  was  beside  myself.  It  was  natural  that  I  should 
feel  angry  with  her.  I  was  perfectly  justified,  I  think, 
in  allowing  myself  to  be  so,  but  in  fact  I  could  not 
control  myself.  I  had  asked  her  to  marry  me  and  she 
had  laughed  in  my  face,  and  rudely  too.  It  was  not 
her  usual  bright  laughter.  It  was  as  good  as  to  tell 
me  she  thought  me  a  fool.  It  was  openly  contemptu- 
ous, and  she  made  no  effort  to  conceal  it:  in  fact,  she 
tried  to  laugh. 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  "that's  the  last  time  I  will  give 
you  a  chance  of  laughing  at  me,  if  I  can  help  it.  I 
asked  you  to  marry  me  because  I  wanted  you,  and  be- 
cause I  thought  we  should  be  happy  together;  and 
whatever  your  feelings  may  be  you  have  no  right  to 
be  contemptuous.  You  have  perfect  liberty  to  think 
I'm  not  good  enough  for  you,  but  you  have  no  right 
whatever  to  be  rude  about  it." 

Nita  looked  far  away  out  of  the  window  with  a  cold 
face. 

"I've  a  great  admiration  for  you,  Nita,"  I  went  on, 
"and  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it;  and  I've  put  up  with 
things  from  you  which  I  would  not  have  let  anyone 
else  in  the  world  say  to  me ;  but  this  is  altogether  too 
much.  I  have  allowed  myself  to  get  too  fond  of  you 
it  seems,  but  it  doesn't  occur  to  me  that  you  have  ever 


HOME  AGAIN  305 

resented  our  intimacy.  You  cannot  be  altogether  sur- 
prised that  I  should  have  grown  to  feel  for  you  as 
I  do." 

"Perhaps  you'd  be  happier  if  you  did  not  let  such 
feelings  grow  on  you,"  said  Nita  quickly,  still  gazing 
from  the  window. 

I  looked  at  her.  "Very  well,"  I  said.  "I'll  remem- 
ber that,"  and  I  walked  out  of  the  room. 

As  I  turned  on  my  heel  I  thought  I  heard  her  make 
some  movement,  but  when  I  glanced  back  at  her,  in 
the  action  of  opening  the  door,  she  was  standing  gaz- 
ing out  of  the  window  with  a  white  face,  just  as  I 
had  left  her.  She  can  look  quite  a  plain  woman  some- 
times. 

I  felt  so  enraged  and^  indignant  that  I  hardly  knew 
how  to  bear  myself  that  afternoon.  I  tried  to  walk  off 
the  mood.  It  is  the  end  of  my  friendship  with  Nita: 
that's  certain.  I  got  home  just  after  she  and  my 
mother  had  gone  to  church,  and  by  the  time  I  joined 
them  at  supper  I  had  calmed  down.  I  determined  to- 
give  Nita  no  opportunities  of  trespassing  beyond  the 
ordinary  bounds  of  social  decorum.  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  be  studiously  polite,  and  I  have  been ;  but  it 
makes  things  fearfully  dreary  in  the  house.  Nita 
shows  no  wish  to  revive  the  old  footing;  in  fact  she 
seems  more  depressed  than  I  am,  and  looks  drawn 
and  thin  if  I  catch  her  when  she  does  not  know  I  can 
see  her.  She  responds  to  my  mother,  and  appears 
cheerful,  but  when  we  are  not  at  meals  she  sits  and 
reads  or  sews,  and  never  touches  the  piano,  and  we 


306  THOMAS 

both  make  excuses  if  my  mother  proposes  a  round 
game.  In  fact  life  is  so  dreary  at  home  that  I  go  off 
to  the  office  now  with  pleasure,  and  come  back  with  a 
heavy  heart.  I  have  dined  in  town  several  times  rather 
than  face  the  evening  at  home.  My  mother  has  no- 
ticed my  altered  demeanor  and  highly  approves  of  it,  it 
seems.  She  said  to  me  to-day: 

"It  is  such  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see  my  son  growing 
every  day  in  politeness  and  dignity.  That  is  what  I 
like.  I  knew  he  would  benefit  by  his  visits  to  the 
palaces  of  dukes.  If  you  take  the  aristocracy  as  a 
model,  my  dear  son,  you  will  always  please  your 
mother,  remember  that." 

To-day  it  leaked  out  that  Nita  is  leaving  us  on  Mon- 
day. This  is  a  new  move.  She  was  to  have  stayed 
on  till  next  month,  when  she  is  paying  a  round  of 
visits ;  but  now  she  is  going  to  fill  in  the  intervening 
time  with  a  sort  of  connection  at  Streatham.  Nita 
will  be  rather  wasted  on  Streatham,  I'm  afraid,  but 
she  is  so  obviously  unhappy  here  that  she  had  much 
better  go  away.  It  is  just  what  she  told  me  at  Bourn- 
combe  :  speaking  without  thinking  and  then  being  sorry 
when  it  is  too  late.  I  am  still  angry  with  her,  and  it 
will  be  a  relief  when  she  goes.  Things  can  never  be 
the  same  again.  My  feelings  for  her  have  not  exactly 
changed :  there  are  times  when  I  yearn  for  her  old  quiet 
intimate  air,  but  that's  all  over,  I  know.  She  has  put 
me  outside  the  pale,  and  I  will  show  her  I  can  get 
along  all  right  there,  and  that  I  have  no  intention  of 
trving  to  climb  back.  I  seem  to  have  quite  taken  rank 


HOME  AGAIN  307 

as  a  sort  of  specialist  at  the  Infant  Mortality  job,  and 
I  brought  home  papers  on  Saturday,  though  I  took 
good  care  not  to  let  Gregory  know. 

So  good-bye  to  Nita ;  and  a  long  winter's  work  be- 
fore me.  As  if  to  mark  the  finality  of  things,  I  have 
laid  up  Susan  in  vaseline  and  dust  sheets  till  the  spring' 
Perhaps  I  shall  have  another  tour  next  summer,  but 
there  won't  be  any  wife-hunting  next  time.  I  have  let 
my  mother  understand  that  I  am  sick  of  the  subject. 
Whenever  now  she  asks  leading  questions,  I  keep  say- 
ing "What?"  and  when  she  nudges  me  I  press  her  as 
to  her  meaning,  and  she  at  once  beats  a  disorderly  re- 
treat. I  have  learnt  a  good  lesson,  I  think. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

NITA 

I  THOUGHT  I  had  no  more  to  tell,  but  I  can't 
leave  off  so.  A  most  wonderful  thing  has  hap- 
pened. I  hardly  know  how  to  write  it.  I  never 
dreamed  it  was  possible  for  anyone  to  be  so  cock-a- 
whoop,  but  that  doesn't  at  all  express  it,  for  every- 
thing is  new  and  different  somehow.  I  did  not  imagine 
things  could  ever  be  like  this.  It's  all  too  good  to  be 
true,  and  I  almost  dig  the  starting  tear  whenever  I 
think  of  it.  It's  about  Nita,  of  course. 

It  was  all  most  extraordinary.  I  had  not  changed 
my  mind  about  her — it  just  happened.  The  only  thing 
was  that  I  had  begun  to  feel  a  bit  sorry  for  poor  old 
Nita.  She  was  evidently  very  much  down  on  her  luck, 
and  I  didn't  like  the  idea  of  her  going  away  to  that 
suburban  squalor  at  Streatham.  I  began  to  feel,  too, 
that  though  she  had  behaved  perfectly  inexcusably,  as 
I  thought,  it  was  nevertheless  I  who  had  raised  the 
racket  that  provoked  her ;  and  I  felt  also  that  some  of 
the  things  I  said  were  rather  heavy-handed,  even  though 
deserved,  and  that  Nita  would  go  away  and  continue 

308 


NITA  309 

to  be  unhappy,  and  mope  in  that  horrible  hole  she 
was  going  to.  After  all,  my  mother  is  Nita's  nearest 
relative  in  England,  and  she  has  been  invited  to  look 
upon  our  house  as  her  home;  so  that  it  would  be 
fairer,  I  thought,  for  me  to  take  rooms  in  Town,  as- 
I  have  often  thought  of  doing,  rather  than  that  Nita 
should  be  turned  out  on  to  the  world.  That  is  how  I 
had  been  thinking,  and  a  sort  of  gush  of  pity  for  her 
took  hold  of  me  when  I  was  smoking  after  lunch  on- 
Saturday.  She  was  leaving  us  on  the  following  Mon- 
day, and  had  not  been  looking  happy;  so  I  thought  I 
would  just  go  and  cheer  her  up  a  bit,  and  I  went  off  ta 
find  her. 

As  I  say,  I  hardly  know  how  it  happened.  Nothing 
was  further  from  my  thoughts  than,  in  the  least,  to 
make  love  to  her.  In  fact,  as  I  went  to  look  for  herr 
I  definitely  fixed  in  my  mind  how  I  could  speak  kindly 
without  encroaching  on  intimacy,  and  be  gentle  and 
friendly  while  I  remained  remote.  I  felt  things  could 
never  be  the  same  as  they  had  been.  It  was  past  hop- 
ing for,  I  thought. 

I  found  her  reading  in  the  summer-house.  I  was 
walking  past  when  I  caught  sight  of  her,  so  that  it 
did  not  appear  that  I  had  searched  her  out. 

"Reading?"  I  said. 

She  glanced  up  and  smiled  a  little  sadly.  Her  eyes 
looked  tired  and  odd.  I  know  now  that  it  was  because 
she  had  been  crying,  but  I  only  thought  how  her  good 
looks  were  going,  and  I  felt  more  sorry  than  ever, 

I  went  and  sat  down  beside  her. 


310  THOMAS 

"Don't  be  downhearted,"  I  began.  "I  did  not  mean 
all  I  said  the  other  day,  you  know  that.  I  freely1 
admit  I  made  an  ass  of  myself,  and  you  can  rely  upon 
me  not  to  annoy  you  like  that  again.  You  made  me 
angry  or  I  should  not  have  spoken  as  I  did;  but  you 
were  a  bit  heavy  on  me,  you  know.  You  were  rather 
unkind,  Nita.  I  meant  what  I  said  at  the  time*,  and  it 
was  a  little  cruel  of  you  to  laugh  at  me,  wasn't  it?  But 
cheer  up!  That's  all  over!  I  hate  to  see  you  de- 
pressed and  different  from  your  old  self.  It  makes 
me  feel  absolutely  dreary — it  does  indeed,  and  you 
needn't  fret  about  me.  I'm  all  right.  I  shall  forget 
all  about  it  in  a  week  or  two,  no  doubt ;  and  anyhow, 
there  need  be  no  ill-feeling.  Life's  too  short  to  worry 
about  things  like  these.  I've  got  another  important 
precis  to  make,  and  I  feel  that  my  work  will  be  an 
enormous  stand-by.  I  don't  withdraw  a  word  of 
what  I  said  of  my  gratitude  to  you.  I  should  have 
made  an  ass  of  myself  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  Nita. 
You  wouldn't  believe,  either,  how  work  adds  to  the 
pleasure  of  my  spare  time.  I  had  a  delightful  evening 
the  other  night,  for  instance;  dined  at  the  club,  and 
knocked  up  against  a  man  who  asked  me  to  join  his 
party  as  another  fellow  had  failed  him ;  and  I  went 
with  his  sister  and  another  girl  to  the  Waldorf,  and 
to  supper  afterwards,  and  had  a  royal  time;  but  it 
wouldn't  have  been  the  same  if  there  had  not  been  a 
good  day's  work  to  my  credit.  I  feel  twice  the  man 
for  it." 

Nita  sat  all  this  time  with  her  elbows  on  the  table 


NITA  311 

and  her  chin  resting  on  the  backs  of  her  locked  fing- 
ers, gazing  in  front  of  her. 

"Yes,"  she  throbbed  quickly,  "it's  all  very  well  for 
you,  with  the  ball  at  your  feet  and  the  world  before 
you." 

I  didn't  understand  what  she  meant.  Then,  to  my 
astonishment,  she  got  out  her  handkerchief  and  I  saw 
she  was  crying.  She  did  her  best  to  control  herself, 
but  a  moment  after  she  quite  broke  down  and  sobbed 
with  her  head  on  her  arm. 

It  was  dreadful.  I  couldn't  bear  it — to  see  her 
pretty  neck  bowed  and  her  slender  frame  shaken  with 
sobs.  She  seemed  so  fragile,  so  lonely  and  deserted. 
I  was  filled  with  a  burning  pity  for  her.  I  wanted  to 
help  her.  I  hardly  knew  what  I  said.  I  begged  her 
to  stop ;  to  say  how  I  had  grieved  her ;  to  tell  me  what 
was  the  matter.  She  couldn't  speak.  I  felt  so  terribly 
sorry.  I  thought  it  was  something  I  had  done.  I  said 
all  the  kind  things  I  could  think  of.  I  put  my  arm 
over  her  shoulder ;  I  kissed  her.  I  hardly  knew  I  did 
it;  I  never  meant  to,  exactly.  "Oh,  Nita,"  I  said, 
"can't  I  help  you?  Am  I  nothing  to  you  at  all  when, 
you  are  so  much  to  me  ?" 

She  suddenly  turned  and  put  her  arms  round  my 
neck,  with  her  head  bowed,  still  sobbing.  I  held  her. 
I  never  in  my  life  felt  so.  I  couldn't  have  believed  it. 
I  forced  her  face  up  to  mine.  It  was  all  stained  and 
anguished.  I  kissed  her  again  and  again.  It  didn't 
seem  to  be  Nita,  somehow.  It  was  all  quite  different. 
I  never  kissed  anyone  like  that  before.  I  knew  then 


312  THOMAS 

that  there  was  no  one  I  could  ever  have  loved  as  I 
love  her.  I  was  surrounded  and  caught  up.  It  was  all 
certain  and  sure;  a  stupendous  revelation,  a  gigantic 
fact  that  made  the  whole  world  only  a  sort  of  acces- 
sory shell  in  which  to  contain  us.  I  can't  say  it  prop- 
erly. I  only  know  what  I  felt: — and  to  think  that  I 
could  make  her  happy !  There  was  a  look  deep  in  her 
eyes — I  simply  can't  write  about  it. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  wonderful  hour  we  spent 
together  in  the  summer-house  before  we  saw  my  moth- 
er walking  in  the  distance  and,  evidently,  looking  for 
us.  Nita  became  like  a  confiding  child  when  she  had 
composed  herself.  She  nestled  to  me.  We  had  no 
secrets.  I  even  told  her  of  Rachel.  She  did  not  seem 
to  mind  a  bit — in  fact  she  didn't  seem  surprised;  it 
-was  all  as  if  she  had  known.  "Poor  old  T. !"  was  all 
she  said.  She  smiled  at  me. 

She  told  me  she  had  first  begun  to  like  me  one  day 
when  I  took  her  out  in  Susan,  and  stopped  to  go  into  a 
small  shop  at  High  Wycombe  to  buy  a  scrubbing-brush 
for  my  mother.  How  she  can  remember  it  all  I  can't 
imagine.  I  don't.  It  must  be  a  year  ago.  She  says 
it  was  my  voice  when  I  said  "Don't  touch  that  pedal 
or  Susan  will  have  a  fit";  and  the  look  of  my  back 
as  I  went  into  the  shop:  but  I  don't  see  anything  in 
that.  She  said  it  was  much  more  afterwards  when  she 
noticed  the  way  my  hair  grows  down  on  the  back  of 
my  neck.  I  have  borrowed  my  mother's  hand-glass 
so  as  to  have  a  look  at  it  myself.  I  think  I  see  what 
means — it's  at  the  side,  she  says;  but  it  doesn't 


NITA  31S 

look  much  different  from  anyone  else's,  so  far  as  I 
can  judge.  She  says  she  was  joking  that  day  she  told 
me  I  was  greedy  and  selfish  and  conceited ;  but  that 
she  wasn't  altogether  joking  when  she  said  I  was  too 
pleased  with  myself.  She  says  that  she  didn't  really 
mind  it  in  me,  though  she  wouldn't  like  it  in  anyone 
else.  I  told  her  not  to  be  prejudiced.  She  said  she 
never  minded  any  of  my  chaff,  and  liked  it;  but  she 
surprised  me  by  saying  that  she  found  her  Aunt  Emmy 
very  difficult  to  get  on  with.  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so. 
She  said  she  had  a  very  bad  time  before  she  went  to 
Bourncombe.  My  mother  was  always  harping  on  her 
ambition  that  Valerie  and  I  would  make  a  match,  and 
in  such  a  way  as  to  imply  that  Nita  was,  of  course, 
entirely  disqualified  in  such  a  field.  She  rubbed  in 
Valerie  to  such  an  extent  that  at  last  Nita  could  hardly 
sit  in  the  room  with  her. 

"Now  that's  the  sort  of  girl  I  should  like  my  son 
to  marry,"  she  would  say  twenty  times  in  a  week,  "and 
I  know  so  well  my  dear  son's  tastes.  When  Thomas 
makes  his  choice  I  know  it  will  be  a  wise  one,"  and  she 
would  enlarge  upon  the  attractions  of  Valerie's  youth- 
fulness  and  riches. 

Nita  is  a  couple  of  years  older  than  I  am,  and  she 
hasn't  got  a  blooming  cent,  managing  very  cleverly  on 
a  tiny  annuity.  No  wonder  she  got  tired  of  hearing 
my  mother's  contempt  for  marriageable  ladies  who 
were  not  excessively  young,  nor  very  well-to-do. 

"I've  got  a  confession  to  make,  T.,"  Nita  said  with 
rather  pink  cheeks,  playing  with  the  frill  of  her  dress. 


314  THOMAS 

"So  you  won't  be  angry,  will  you?"  she  added  after 
a  pause. 

I  wondered  what  on  earth  was  coming. 

"You  remember  those  picture  postcards  you  told  me 
about?" 

"The  actresses?" 

"Yes." 

"Well?" 

"Don't  be  angry — I  must  tell  you." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"It  was  I." 

"You  sent  them?" 

"Yes,  T." 

"But  why?    What  was  the  joke?" 

Nita  sighed  happily.  "So  now  I've  told  you,"  was 
all  she  said. 

"But  what  was  the  idea?  I  suppose  you  thought 
that  Valerie "  I  paused. 

Nita  pushed  her  forehead  into  my  chest  and  then 
looked  up  at  me. 

"I'm  really  dreadfully  ashamed,"  she  said. 

But  she  wasn't  a  bit.  I  could  see  that  perfectly.  It 
was  all  nonsense. 

Well!  She's  a  deeper  rogue  than  I  thought,  that's 
all. 

We  couldn't  let  my  mother  find  us.  She  would  have 
noticed  Nita's  face.  It  was  lovely;  I  never  saw  any- 
thing so  glorious  as  Nita's  countenance  at  that  mo- 
ment. I  know  now  what  a  blind,  mad  fool  I  have  been. 
I  could  hardly  bear  to  let  her  go  from  me;  but  there 


NITA  315 

she  went,  flitting  through  the  shrubbery  to  the  house ; 
the  dear  flowing,  graceful  figure,  with  the  flashing  feet 
I  knew  so  well.  And  yet  how  differently  I  now  viewed 
her  as  I  thought  of  what  that  precious  atom  of  life 
and  movement  held  for  me — all  it  gave.  My  God ! 
I've  learnt  what  a  man's  job  is,  and  I'll  do  it.  I  can 
make  her  happy;  and  I'll  keep  her,  and  possess  her, 
and  hold  her  for  ever. 

I  strolled  to  meet  my  mother  with  as  sedate  a  bear- 
ing as  my  bounding  heart  would  allow.  I  wanted  to 
be  alone ;  I  wanted  a  sort  of  church  service  all  to  my- 
self, and  I  felt  a  chill  of  heart  as  I  approached  her. 
She  began  rubbing  her  hands  together,  as  is  her  habit 
before  she  makes  a  spring  at  me. 

"Where's  Nita?"  she  asked  with  her  eyebrows  very 
much  raised. 

"In  the  house.    Do  you  want  her?" 

"Oh,  no !  No,  my  dear  son,  I  only  wondered.  She's 
going  on  Monday.  I  think  she  needs  a  change.  Poor 
Nita." 

"Why  'Poor  Nita'?" 

"Oh,  my  dear  son,  you  know,  of  course,  how  lonely 
she  is — and  losing  her  good  looks,  too — such  as  she 
had : — she  doesn't  seem  to  be  able  to  make  up  her  mind, 
and  of  course  it's  a  very  difficult  position  for  her — no 
money,  you  see!"  she  shrugged.  "In  these  days  men 
know  better  than  to  marry  penniless  women — nice  men, 
I  mean ;  and  especially  elderly  men." 

It  was  odd  that  she  should  touch  on  the  subject  at 
that  moment  of  all  others,  She  had  never  quite  said 


316  THOMAS 

anything  of  the  kind  before,  and  I  wondered  whether 
she  had  begun  to  get  an  idea  of  what  was  in  the  wind. 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  one  thing.  I  would  not  allow 
Nita  to  be  affronted  in  her  reception  by  my  mother. 
Nita  is  a  pure  gem  of  womanhood,  and  a  beauty  any 
man  in  the  world  might  be  proud  to  win  and  wear; 
and  I  shall  walk  straight  out  of  my  mother's  house 
before  I  will  see  any  slight  put  upon  her.  I  had  to 
prevent  a  scene  if  I  could.  I  knew  well  that  my 
mother  would  be  dashed  when  she  heard  the  truth,  if 
only  for  the  reason  that  she  would  be  robbed  of  the 
excitement  of  welcoming  a  stranger,  for  she  has  only 
met  Valerie  twice ;  and  I  knew,  too,  that  she  would  not 
control  her  feelings  on  my  account,  nor  even  confess 
to  disappointment  and  then  try  to  forget  it.  She 
would  pretend  an  insincere  pleasure  which  she  would 
belie  by  her  manner  and  in  every  word  she  uttered ; 
and  she  would  persist  in  expressing  hostile  feelings,  by 
innuendo  and  veiled  implication,  on  all  possible  occa- 
sions. She  would  do  this,  I  knew,  not  from  any  con- 
scious intention  of  wounding;  but  simply  from  her 
habit,  as  a  spoilt  woman,  of  living  in  the  desires  of  her 
own  heart  without  any  sympathy  for  the  feelings  of 
others. 

I  turned  the  matter  over  in  my  mind,  and  decided 
on  a  course  of  action  which,  I  hoped,  would  cut  the 
ground  from  under  my  mother's  feet,  and  afterwards 
surprise  the  natural  instincts  of  a  human  being  in  her. 
If  we  acted  up  to  her  own  prejudices  and  accepted  her 
view  of  the  matter,  the  wind  would  be  out  of  her  sails, 


NITA  317 

and  we  might  afterwards  take  possession  of  the  tiller ; 
and  it  was  in  her  own  interest  that  I  should  do  some- 
thing to  dull  her  edge,  for  otherwise  there  would  cer- 
tainly be  a  general  break-up  of  our  party.  I  had  no  in- 
tention of  keeping  the  matter  secret  and  living  a  life  of 
false  pretences. 

I  spoke  to  Nita  of  all  this  later  in  the  afternoon. 
She  fell  in  with  my  ideas,  and  so  we  arranged  it 
between  us.  It  was  a  delight  to  me  to  have  wooed  the 
old  merry  Nita  back  to  her  kingdom  in  the  dear  true 
heart,  and  the  wise  pretty  head.  The  girl, — for  she's 
a  girl,  heart  and  soul,  in  spite  of  all — is  like  a  chamel- 
eon:— she  is  transformed  by  her  moods.  I  could 
scarcely  believe,  at  tea,  that  it  was  the  same  Nita  I  had 
surprised  in  the  summer-house  a  couple  of  hours  ear- 
lier. Nor  was  it,  indeed;  nor  the  same  "I"  for  that 
matter.  Very  long  upper  lips,  however,  were  to  be 
the  rule  we  had  arranged  in  the  presence  of  my 
mother. 

Everything  worked  out  as  we  planned.  I  remained 
in  the  drawing-room  before  dinner  till  my  mother  came 
down.  She  is  always  early.  When  she  entered  the 
room  she  saw  me  sitting  forward  dejectedly  on  the 
edge  of  my  chair  with  my  elbows  on  my  knees  and  my 
chin  in  my  hands,  gazing  at  a  pot  of  ferns  in  the 
empty  grate. 

"Not  dressed  yet !"  she  exclaimed. 

"No." 

"But,  my  dear  son,  you  will  be  late." 

I  sighed  like  a  small  horse  coughing. 


318  THOMAS 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  ?"  my  mother  asked,  stand- 
ing before  me. 

"Oh  well,  it's  no  good  putting  it  off,"  I  said.  "I've 
got  to  tell  you.  I've  decided  to  marry  Nita." 

My  mother  gave  a  loud  gasp.  "Marry  N But, 

my  dear  son " 

"Yes,"  I  broke  in,  "she's  too  old,  I  know ;  she'll  be 
eighty-two  before  I'm  eighty." 

"Well,  yes!    Of  course!    And  then " 

"No  money.  Yes.  It's  a  gloomy  prospect.  But 
I've  done  it  now.  I  ought  to  get  married,  and  Nita 
doesn't  seem  to  object:  anyhow,  she  has  agreed.  It's 
time  I  settled  down,  and  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any- 
one else  in  particular." 

"But " 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  but  this 
will  be  easiest.  I  never  have  the  time  to  see  enough  of 
girls  to  know  them  properly;  and  it's  such  a  grind 
rooting  about  after  them.  I've  turned  over  dozens  in 
my  time.  It's  no  good.  It's  a  dreary  prospect,  I 
know,  with  a  gray  old  wife,  but  it  might  be  worse. 
Nita's  a  hearty  sort  of  woman  when  the  worst  is  said, 
and  a  wonderful  hand  at  embroidery.  We  can  get 
quite  a  good  house  for  a  low  rent  at  Camden  Town,  or 
some  other  cheap  place,  and  we  shall  shake  down  all 
right,  I  dare  say.  I  wanted  to  tell  you :  you've  always 
encouraged  me  to  get  married,  so  now  that's  settled." 

"Yes;  but  I  never  meant — Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  I 
knew  what  it  would  be.  I  knew !  I  knew  !  I  knew ! 
Oh  why !  why  did  I " 


NITA  319 

"Yes,  it's  a  disappointing  business ;  but  it  might 
have  been  worse,  and  we  shall  shake  down  somehow. 
One  woman's  very  like  another.  Heigh-ho!  Well,  I 
must  go  and  dress,"  and  I  got  up  wearily  and  walked 
out  of  the  room. 

"Ah !  My  dear  son "  my  mother  was  beginning 

as  I  went  out.  I  left  her  staring  at  the  pot  of  ferns 
in  the  fender. 

I  skipped,  when  I  got  into  the  hall,  and  then  raced 
upstairs  on  tip-toe  and  mewed  like  a  cat  close  to  Nita's 
door.  She  was  expecting  me,  and  she  must  have  been 
standing  with  her  hand  on  the  latch,  for  she  opened 
on  the  instant  and  confronted  me.  It  was  a  moment  I 
shall  never  forget.  The  surprise,  no  doubt,  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it.  She  had  dressed  herself  as  for 
a  feast,  and  I  was  quite  overcome  in  realizing  that 
this  tender,  glowing,  rapturous  being  was  my  own ; 
body  and  soul.  It  was  a  pale  coral-pink  dress  she 
wore,  with  something  of  lace  at  the  bosom,  and  all  her 
smooth  body  fell  shimmering  to  the  floor.  And  her 
face !  The  dear  thing  had  plumped  out ;  joy  filled  her 
veins  and  transformed  her,  and  I  knew  who  put  it 
there.  Her  hair,  too!  And  the  way  it  crowned  her 
forehead !  And  the  questioning  smile  dawning  on  her 
lips!  I  would  have  given  my  life  for  that  moment. 
She  seemed  to  crush  up  deliciously  in  my  arms.  She  is 
such  a  delicate  creature  when  you  take  her: — almost 
fragile,  though  one  would  never  think  it.  She  was  not 
perfumed,  but  she  smelt  all  precious  to  me.  I  love  her 
neck, — she  is  so  gentle  and  gracious, — with  little 


320  THOMAS 

startled  movements,  too; — I  can't  go  on, — it  is  all  too 
damned  wonderful. 

She  laughed  and  she  hummed  in  my  ear  and  we 
began  to  waltz  together  round  the  landing;  but  very 
softly  for  fear  my  mother  should  hear  us.  We  were 
bubbling  with  happiness  though  her  lashes  were  be- 
dewed. My  joy  was  almost  more  than  I  could  bear.  I 
was  mad  with  ecstasy.  I  kissed  her  eyes.  And  then 
we  swung  up  against  the  balusters  and  they  cracked 
loudly,  and  we  had  all  we  could  do  to  keep  our  laugh- 
ter out  of  evidence. 

After  that,  Nita  stole  off  downstairs.  I  had  coached 
her  in  the  part  she  was  to  play.  I  stood  and  watched 
her  swift  easy  movements  as  she  went  from  me.  She 
stood  upright  as  an  arrow,  and  when  she  moved  her 
feet  shot  out  one  after  the  other  to  clear  her  skirt  as, 
step  by  step,  she  sank  to  the  hall.  I  felt  she  would 
know  I  was  watching  her, — I  knew  she  knew  that  I 
knew.  She  turned  and  kissed  her  hands  to  me  and  the 
door  closed  on  the  vision  of  her. 

To  think  that  I  might  have  missed  it  all,  and  never 
come  to  know  myself  or  her !  I  found  myself  walking 
up  and  down  my  dressing-room  saying  aloud  "Thank 
God!  Thank  God!"  I  believe  I  am  going  soft.  I 
found  I  was  actually  snivelling.  I  suddenly  became 
aware  of  it.  It  was  unmanly,  but  I  don't  care  if  it 
was ;  it's  only  because  of  the  way  I  feel  about  Nita.  I 
told  her  I  had  made  an  ass  of  myself  about  her,  and  at 
first  she  didn't  know  what  I  meant.  Then  she  patted 
me  on  the  back  of  my  hand.  The  idea  of  Nita  patting 


NITA  321 

me!  and  of  my  feeling  happy  and  contented  that  she 
should ! 

Nita  followed  out  my  plan  when  she  encountered 
my  mother  in  the  drawing-room.  She  has  told  me 
all  that  happened. 

My  mother  was  standing  staring  at  the  pot  of  ferns 
much  as  I  had  left  her.  She  glanced  round  when  Nita 
entered,  and  then  resumed  her  fixed  gaze  into  the 
grate.  Nita  went  to  the  far  end  of  the  room,  seated 
herself,  and  turned  the  pages  of  an  illustrated  journal 
as  she  talked. 

"Has  Thomas  told  you  anything?  He  said  he 
would,"  she  began. 

"Yes.  He  told  me  just  now.  Poor  boy." 

"  'Poor  boy !'  That's  not  very  flattering  to  me,  is  it  ? 
I  don't  think  he  considers  himself  a  'poor  boy.'  He 
has  been  pestering  me  and  pestering  me ;  and  so  now 
I've  promised, — but  I  never  expected  I  should  end  by 
fetching  up  with  Thomas.  Oh  dear !" 

"Well,  of  course  not.  That's  exactly  what  I  feel, 
and " 

"But  what  can  I  do?"  Nita  went  on.  "Here  is  this 
stepson  of  yours  hanging  about  me,  and  following  m< 
wherever  I  go — he  even  came  down  to  Bourncombe, 
as  you  know,  to  see  me — and  dragging  his  legs  after 
him  and  looking  so  wretched.  People  are  beginning  to 
expect  us  to  be  married.  It's  no  choice  of  mine.  Aunt 
Emmy.  I'm  weary.  I've  had  to  give  in  at  last." 

"But " 


322  THOMAS 

"Oh  well,  it's  done  now.  Less  said  soonest  mended. 
Have  you  seen  these  new  'Japanese'  mantles,  as  they 
call  them?  Too  stiff  and  angular,  I  think.  No,  it's 
no  good  talking.  Thomas  wants  me  to  agree  to  the 
wedding  being  before  Christmas,  but  I  should  like  to 
enjoy  my  freedom  a  little  longer  if  possible." 

"Oh,  much  too  soon,  of  course,"  said  my  mother. 

"Well,  you'd  better  tell  him  so,  or  he'll  give  me  no 
peace;  but  if  it  has  got  to  be,  I  suppose  the  plunge 
may  as  well  take  place  before  Christmas  as  after,  and 
get  it  over;  I  mean  to  make  the  best  of  it  and  do  my 
share." 

"Nita,"  my  mother  approached  her  after  a  pause, 
rubbing  her  hands  together,  "do  you  think — Thomas 
told  me,  of  course,  he  took  me  into  his  confidence, 
dear  boy,  I  understand  him  so  well — do  you  think  he 
is: — really?" 

"Is  really  what?"  asked  Nita,  looking  at  her  and 
following  my  plan  of  running  her  Aunt  Emmy  to 
earth  and  then  digging  her  out. 

"Well,  is  he  quite  sure — really  quite,  I  mean?" 

"Well,  what  do  you  mean,  Aunt  Emmy9'' 

"Oh  nothing,  dear, — I  don't  think  you  quite  under- 
stand me.  I  only  meant  that  perhaps  you  would  think 
Thomas — being  so  much  younger  than  you,  and  not 
older  of  course,  and  not  having  had  the  same  experi- 
ence of  life  that  you  have  had,  poor  boy " 

"Well?" 

"Oh,  I  just  thought  I  would  ask  you, — that's  all." 

"Ask  me  what?" 


NITA  323 

"Oh,  just  whether  you  were  sure." 
"Sure  of  what,  Aunt  Emmy?" 
"Well — money  matters,  for  instance." 
'What's  that  got  to  do  with  Thomas  being  so  many 
years  younger  than  I  am,  pray?" 

"Oh,  nothing  at  all.  Of  course.  I  didn't  mean 
that." 

"Well,  why  not  say  what  you  do  mean,  Aunt 
Emmy  ?" 

"Oh  well,  dear,  perhaps  we  had  better  not  discuss 
the  matter:  you  don't  understand  me,  Nita, — and  so 
the  less  said  the  better,  as  you  say.  I  quite  agree — if, 

of  course,  it  can't  be And  you  and  Thomas  are 

certainly " 

She  stood  rubbing  her  hands  together  disconcertedly 
for  a  little,  while  Nita  turned  over  the  fashion  pages. 
Then  she  left  the  room  in  a  doubtful  way  and  appar- 
ently came  straight  to  my  room.  She  knocked,  and  I 
opened  the  door  in  my  braces. 

"Oh!  You're  not  ready  yet,"  she  said  experimen- 
tally. 

"Not  yet.  Why?"  I  asked,  as  I  tied  my  tie  before 
the  glass. 

"Oh  nothing!     Only " 

"Well?" 

"Nita  was  telling  me  just  now ; — that's  all." 

"All  what?" 

"I  say  Nita  has  just  told  me,  my  dear  son." 

"What  has  she  told  you?" 

"Oh !    Only  what  you  said." 


324  THOMAS 

"What  did  I  say?" 

"About  you  and  Nita,  I  mean." 

"Do  you  mean  that  Nita  told  you  she  is  going  to 
marry  me?" 

"Yes :  at  least  she  said  you  had  asked  her,  and  that 
she  had  agreed, — but  nothing  fixed." 

"Well,  I'll  do  the  fixing,"  I  said.  "What's  wrong 
with  that?" 

"Oh  yes,  of  course,  my  dear  son,  I  understand  per- 
fectly; but  Nita  did  not  seem  quite  as  if  she  had 
actually  understood  you, — not  as  a  settled  thing,  I 
mean." 

"I  don't  follow." 

"Well,  not  to  be  told,  I  mean." 

"Who's  not  to  be  told  what?" 

"The, — your, — what  you  said  1" 

"What  did  I  say?" 

"Why,  that  you  wanted  to  marry  Nita." 

"No  I  didn't,"  I  told  her.  "I  said  I  was  going  to 
marry  Nita.  What's  your  point?  I  don't  understand 
what  you're  driving  at." 

"Oh,  my  dear  son !  I'm  not  trying  to  make  any 
point, — of  course  I  know, — we  understand  one  another 
perfectly;  you're  quite  old  enough, — and  Nita  even 
more, — to  know  what  you  intend ;  and  as  for  money, 
well!  You  will  simply  have  to  do  without  it, — that's 
all." 

"All  right,"  I  said.  "Well,  now  that's  settled." 
And  I  put  on  my  waistcoat  and  began  tidying  up  my 
things. 


NITA  325 

After  my  stepmother  had  waited,  looking  on  and 
rubbing  her  hands  in  a  thwarted  manner,  she  crept 
off  to  her  own  room.  I  peeped  to  see  the  coast  was 
clear  and  then  ran  down  to  Nita. 

The  gong  sounded  soon  after,  and  when  my  mother 
came  into  the  room  she  found  Nita  reading  in  one 
chair  with  a  panting  bosom,  and  me  sprawling  de- 
jectedly in  another  with  a  heaving  shirt-front. 

"Oh  dear!    Why,  what's  that?" 

"That"  was  a  wet  place  on  the  floor.  We  had  hoped 
she  would  not  notice  it.  It  was  all  through  my  dash- 
ing style  of  dancing  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  I  had 
cleared  the  table,  vase  and  all,  twice,  before  the  acci- 
dent happened,  without  leaving  go  of  Nita's  fingers. 
It  was  Nita  in  fact  who  brought  about  the  mishap. 
She  did  not  give  me  enough  rope.  Yoicks!  I  won- 
der my  mother  had  not  felt  the  house  shaking. 

It  was  a  gloomy  dinner  we  all  ate  that  night.  I 
sighed  more  than  once,  and  Nita  said  on  three  dif- 
ferent occasions  that  she  thought  it  was  going  to  rain. 
Things  were  more  cheerful  under  the  table,  where 
Nita  and  I  had  a  game  of  "Soccer"  with  a  hassock ; — 
score,  several  goals  to  two  in  my  favor.  My  mother 
asked  me  to  turn  Peter  out  of  the  room,  and  I  opened 
the  door  and  called  Peter,  but  still  my  mother  said  she 
was  sure  Peter  was  in  the  room,  and  the  parlormaid 
looked  under  the  table  but  Peter  could  not  be  found. 
It  was  very  strange,  we  all  agreed. 

We  kept  it  up  all  Sunday  till  just  before  supper. 
We  decided  then  to  tell  my  mother  the  truth  when  she 


326  THOMAS 

came  back  from  church.  She  was  evidently  much 
depressed  and  disturbed  in  mind  by  the  disaster  which 
appeared  to  lie  before  us,  and  if  we  could  suddenly 
confront  her  with  the  knowledge  of  our  happiness,  the 
sudden  pleasure,  I  hoped,  would  go  some  way  to  wipe 
out  her  disappointment.  My  mother  is  very  much  a 
creature  of  habit,  and  she  will  go  on  thinking  the 
same  thought,  like  a  horse  going  round  at  a  circus,  for 
years,  without  any  reference  to  changing  circum- 
stances. The  thing  to  do  was  to  give  her  the  right 
thought  to  start  with. 

Nita  and  I  went  up  to  her  and  confessed.  My 
mother  did  not  wait  to  understand  why  we  had  acted 
as  we  had.  The  load  dropped  from  her  mind;  she 
was  relieved  of  a  burden  of  care;  she  kissed  us  both 
spontaneously.  She  called  us  "naughty  children"  for 
having  played  her  such  a  trick,  but  she  added  that, 
of  course,  she  knew  all  the  time  that  we  were  joking. 

I  see  the  inevitable  "But"  shaping  itself  on  my 
mother's  forehead  sometimes,  but  I  pull  her  up  at 
once  with  "Well,  what's  the  matter — you're  frown- 
ing." 

"Oh  no,  my  dear  son,"  she  says,  "I'm  quite  happy 
about  you  and  Nita.  I  shall  be  proud  to  have  Nita 
for  a  daughter-in-law." 

I  have  urged  Nita  to  take  the  same  line  with  my 
stepmother,  and  to  do  Nita  justice  she  buckles  to  the 
job  with  gusto.  I  was  amused  yesterday  to  observe 
the  almost  stern  manner  in  which  she  cross-examined 
her  Aunt  Emmy  as  to  the  meaning  of  some  reference 


NITA  327 

to  the  passing  of  time,  which  I  believe  to  have  been  in- 
nocent of  motive.  Well,  it  will  not  be  for  very  long 
that  Nita  will  have  to  play  the  adroit  game. 


Although  I  know  Nita  so  well  she  is  all  new  to  me. 
She  is  full  of  surprises.  It  is  always  an  adventure 
being  with  her.  This  morning,  for  instance, — and  it 
is  Sunday  again, — she  said  she  would  show  me  a  letter 
she  had  written  to  her  mother  when  she  was  a  child. 
She  asked  me  to  her  room  and  there  unlocked  a 
leather-bound  despatch  case.  It  had  poor  old  Bill's 
initials  on  it,  I  noticed. 

Within,  when  she  opened  it,  were  displayed  all  her 
business  papers  neatly  tied  and  packed  away;  and  all 
the  little  odds  and  ends  and  trinkets  of  her  nomadic 
existence.  I  watched  her  clever,  active,  slender  ring- 
ers as  they  searched ;  and  somehow  I  felt  overcome 
with  the  sense  of  her  brightness  and  courage,  and  of 
the  clumsy  part  I  had  played  in  throwing  shadows 
upon  her ;  and  when  I  saw  the  little  orderly  secrets  of 
her  lonely  life  laid  bare  before  such  eyes  as  mine,  and 
realized  all  the  gift  flung  into  my  bosom,  I  seized  her 
hands  and  frantically  kissed  them  and  treasured  them 
in  a  tumult  of  love  and  compassion.  I  am  getting 
horribly  sentimental,  I  think,  but  Nita  doesn't  mind. 
She  is  a  little  amused  at  times,  in  her  queer  way,  but 
she  won't  tell  me  Why. 

Nita  continued  turning  over  the  papers  in  the  des- 
patch-box until  there  was  revealed,  for  a  moment,  ly- 


328  THOMAS 

ing  at  the  bottom  of  the  case,  a  large  white  envelope, 
slightly  stained,  and  with  a  torn  edge.  She  quickly 
returned  again  to  their  places  the  papers  that  had 
covered  it;  but  I  had  seen,  and  I  put  my  hand  down 
over  hers  and  made  her  look  at  me.  She  faced  me 
with  a  warmer  color,  and  a  doubting  pathetic  smile 
hovering  in  her  face. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  I  asked  impressively, 
"that  you  actually  went  and  dug  that  wretched  thing 
up  again?" 

"Yes,  T." 

"Well !"  I  exclaimed,  staring.  I  felt  almost  fright- 
ened of  her. 

"And  look  here,  Thomas,"  Nita  said,  holding  the 
lapels  of  my  coat-collar  and  looking  serious,  "I  want 
you  to  send  that  poor  man  one  of  yours." 

So  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to,  after  all. 


THE  END 


Hvw  five  thousand  men  founded  a  Brit- 
ish community  in  the  heart   qf  Germany. 

INTERNED  IN  GERMANY 

By  H.  C.  MAHONEY 

jpo  pages.    Illustrated.    $2.00  net. 


IF  you  would  know  what  life  at  a  German 
prison  camp  is  like,  live  through  it  in  this 
book.  The  author,  a  British  civilian,  was 
a  guest  at  four,  ending  up  with  a  long  sojourn 
at  the  notorious  Ruhleben.  Here  is  the  story 
of  the  life  that  he  and  his  fellow-prisoners 
lived;  how  they  organized  their  own  com- 
munity life,  and  established  stores,  banks, 
churches,  theatres — in  fact  all  the  appurten- 
ances of  civilized  life.  There  are  also  numer- 
ous stories  of  escapes,  of  adventures  in  the 
camp  and  even  of  the  treachery  of  some  of 
their  pro-German  fellow-prisoners. 

The  book  shows  a  side  of  the  war  which 
has  not  previously  been  d»alt  with  in  full 
detail,  and  it  is,  besides,  an  unusual  record  of 
hardship  and  suffering  and  of  the  many  ways 
in  which  the  indomitable  spirit  of  these  men 
rose  above  the  trials  of  prison  life. 

Publishers,  Robert  M.  McBride  6*  Co.,  New  York 


"NOTHING  OF  IMPORTANCE" 

By  BERNARD  ADAMS 

334  frages.    With  maps.    $1.50  net. 


*^V  TOTHING  of  Importance"  say  the 
^y  communiques  when  there  is  no  big 
action  to  report.  Lieut.  Adams  has 
taken  this  phrase  as  a  title  for  the  series  of 
swift,  vivid  impressions  which  compose  his 
book;  his  chapters,  with  their  glimpses  of 
scenes  in  billets,  in  the  trenches,  of  snipers, 
working  parties  and  patrols,  bring  the  reader 
more  clearly  in  touch  with  the  reality  of  war- 
fare than  do  many  more  spectacular  books. 

"Few,  very  few  books  have  come  out  of 
the  war  more  real  in  their  message  or  more 
poignant  in  their  appeal." — The  Cleveland  Plain 
Dealer. 

"Of  the  scores  of  books  which  are  pushing 
their  way  into  print  nowadays  as  part  of  the 
war  propaganda,  none  more  truthfully  and 
satisfactorily  fulfills  its  mission  than  'Nothing 
of  Importance'." — The  Springfield  Union. 


Publishers,  Robert  M.  McBride  6-  Co.,  New  York 


X  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

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